


Operation: Moonfall

by BlueCrownFics



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mishima Yuuki Has A Palace, One-sided Kurusu Akira/Mishima Yuuki - Freeform, POV Alternating, Persona 5 Protagonist-centric, Persona 5 Spoilers, pining RyuAnn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 07:59:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 46,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17977424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueCrownFics/pseuds/BlueCrownFics
Summary: Akira has the weight of the world on his shoulders. With the Phantom Thieves' reputation in shambles, Akechi on the team and Sae's treasure route secured, yet unclaimed, Akira wonders what more trouble awaits them. Luckily for him, Yusuke is there to keep him sane despite it all. Now, if only Akira can figure out why Mishima is acting so strangely.





	1. New Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Now that this monster of a project is finally complete, there’s a few people that deserve shout outs for making this happen!
> 
> The first shout out goes to the lovely mods of this event: [Milk](http://cremenebula.tumblr.com/), [Music](http://musicaldefiance.tumblr.com/), [Canticle](https://twitter.com/caanticle) , and Alice for making this event possible.
> 
> I want to give a very special thank you to my artists [Kuno](https://twitter.com/kunokocchi) and [Faun](https://twitter.com/overfawning) for bearing with me during the beginnings of this project and drawing for this troublesome story of mine OTL
> 
> I am absolutely, unbelievably and forever grateful to [a-salty-alto](https://yusuke-of-valla.tumblr.com/) and [lizibabbles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liziscribbles/profile) for being my beta readers for this monstrosity and dealing with my ungodly mistakes LOL
> 
> Special thank you to [Hyper](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/hypertails7773) for suggesting the name “Ace”!! And to my BFFS outside of fandom who had to deal with my moaning and groaning for the past 3 months.

Akira hears the hustle and bustle of life outside the cafe before his consciousness reaches him. From the dark dredges of sleep, he stirs to wakefulness. The attic is bright with the morning sun despite the panels being drawn and highlights the floating particles of dust that seem eternal in his humble abode.

He turns away from the brightness, his expression pinched into a frown, as he curls deeper into the warmth beside him. He’s cozy and comfortable against his companion’s lithe figure. The familiar scent of freshly washed clothes and acrylic paint lulls Akira’s mind back into a sense of drowsiness. He’s on the cusp of sleep when his companion shifts beneath his cheek.

He groans.

A deep chortle rumbles through his companion’s chest. Long, slender fingers card through Akira’s ebony locks in gentle, almost timid movements.

“Good morning,” his companion murmurs, voice still thick with sleep. “We should consider getting dressed before Boss returns and finds us.”

Akira groans discontentedly into Yusuke’s side, chasing the lasts wisps of sleep before alertness overtakes his mind. He feels Yusuke move further away from his clutches until the taller boy is no longer in bed but already shuffling around the attic for proper day clothes.

With a resigned sigh, Akira opens his eyes. The light of the day blinds him. He blinks away the tears as his eyes adjust and watches as Yusuke scrolls through his cell phone, now fully charged and buzzing wildly with incoming texts.

“The others will be arriving soon,” he says after a moment of reading.

Akira watches him unabashedly, a smug, but impish smile gracing his lips. It’s not noticeable through Yusuke’s royal blue button up shirt, but Akira imagines those sinewy muscles tightening slightly with Yusuke’s posture. He can practically map out the exact locations of each and every bruise he had sucked into that pale skin the night before, even if Yusuke’s shirt material is too thick and dark to fully expose what they did.

Granted, Akira supposed he looked worse. His whole body screamed with a soreness he did not register earlier and an emptiness deep inside that should not have been there but was. (He feels the heat of his embarrassment crawl up his neck and hopes his cheeks aren’t flushed from his naughty thoughts.)

Yusuke’s voice snaps Akira out of his thoughts. He blinks curiously into Yusuke’s direction and feels his face redden once more.

“Sorry?” He asks after an awkward moment of silence.

Yusuke turns to him completely, his face solemn.

“We should tell them,” He says again. “About us.”

Akira sits up straighter then, Yusuke’s words churning around in his mind. His cell phone vibrates as more alerts from the group chat light up on his screen. Ann’s and Ryuji’s names fill up the screen as they banter back and forth. Akira bites his lower lip.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” He asks instead. He pierces Yusuke with an unwavering gaze, dark eyes guarded in a way that would almost be considered chilling. 

It’s not meant to be an intimidating look. At least, Akira hopes Yusuke understands. This isn’t the first time Yusuke has brought this up and Akira, should he deny him again, knows it won’t be the last. Yusuke is far less reserved about their relationship than Akira is, and while the older boy isn’t as affectionate as newly born couples usually are, Akira knows Yusuke isn’t concerned about the opinions of the general public. It’s why he continues to push.

Yusuke doesn’t want to keep their relationship a secret— _especially_ not from their friends—and truthfully, Akira doesn’t want to either. It’s just…

It’s not really a good time. After everything they’d been through with Haru’s father, the discovery of Sae’s palace and now Akechi, Akira didn’t think—can’t really allow himself the pleasure of thinking—about such… simple and _normal_ things such as this. To be in a relationship with Yusuke of all people. Akira couldn’t believe his luck.

He stares back into Yusuke’s eyes. His expression remains unchanged. He willingly locks gazes with Akira and doesn’t back down; doesn’t even appear to be fazed by Akira’s silence. He’s completely unaware of Akira’s thoughts; so blatantly unbothered by the gravity of the situation the Phantom Thieves are in. Of the situation Akira would soon be facing. There’s a hint of fire behind his gray eyes; a flame of determination that burns so brightly, Akira can feel it in his own veins.

He wants to do this, has _always_ wanted to. Akira feels, to Yusuke, nothing else was more important than this very moment. Akira feels his hesitation wavering.

“I am absolutely certain,” Yusuke says without a beat. “I would not feel comfortable keeping this from our friends. I know the situation is less than ideal, but I feel we must be honest with them. They are our friends, after all.”

Akira is the first to break their stare off with a resigned sigh. His fingers slide through his hair, worsening his bed head but expelling a sudden bout of anxiety he hadn’t realized he’d been harboring.

“Alright,” he says slowly, voice soft. “I know I can’t change your mind once it’s already made up. We’ll tell them.”

The smile Yusuke gives him is enough to steal his breath away.

* * *

After getting dressed and washing up, Akira steels himself for the onslaught of his friends. It’s a slow morning in the cafe, which isn’t unusual given their odd location and the unseasonable warmth of the day.

He goes about fulfilling his duties—brewing the first few batches of coffee; tidying up the tables from dust and cat fur, and helping Sojiro with minor things until his caretaker decides he’s had enough of the boy’s presence and finally gives him the freedom to cater to his friends for the time being.

The first to join them are, unsurprisingly, Futaba and Morgana. She joins Yusuke at the counter as Morgana jumps onto the stall beside her, and gives the artist a grin so wide it makes Akira chuckle. Yusuke makes the mistake of acknowledging her shit-eating-grin.

“So,” she drawls, dragging the sound longer than necessary. “Aren’t you going to thank me?”

Yusuke tilts his head to the side in confusion. His mostly-empty plate of curry is rapidly cooling down in front of him and Akira debates whether or not he should intervene before Sojiro decides to do so. The last thing he wants is for the man to know what he gets up to after store hours. Other than thieving business, of course.

He steals a glance in Morgana’s direction. Morgana seems disinterested in the conversation, but his eyes are slitted in a way that makes Akira think he knows more than he would like. He sits on the bar stool with effortless elegance, his white-tipped tail swishing delicately as he watches Futaba’s expression turn from smug to teasing.

“Don’t act dumb, Inari. I did you both a favor yesterday!” She says quietly, suddenly mindful of Sojiro’s appearance. “It’s so obvious what’s going on between the two of you. Morgana and I were talking about it yesterday. You two should just come out already.”

“We plan to,” Yusuke says bluntly.

Futaba’s eyes widen in surprise. The rest of their conversation falls into silence as the cafe bell rings, signaling the arrival of the others.

Makoto and Haru greet them happily, each of them dressed lightly for what was meant to be a day of fun. Trailing behind them are Ann and Ryuji, the duo in the midst of an argument that Akira suspects he’ll be in the middle of very soon.

“Welcome back,” Sojiro greets them with a kind smile. It’s a bit disorienting against his gruff face, but Akira doesn’t miss the way Makoto and Haru light up under his attention.

Ryuji and Ann’s argument breaks off at that moment. Ann’s small pout morphs into a radiant, gorgeous smile the moment her eyes catches sight of Akira. There’s a mischievous glint in her eyes that leads Akira to think he most definitely will be hearing about their argument later, maybe sooner if Ann has anything to say about it.

“Hey man,” Ryuji grins. “You wouldn’t mind fixing up the usual for us, right?”

Akira rolls his eyes playfully. “Take a seat,” he says instead.

The rest of the gang sit together at a table just behind Yusuke and Futaba. Sojiro disappears into the kitchen, preparing their usual orders while Akira goes through the motion of brewing up some coffee for the others.

It’s then he realizes they’re one person short, and while it was still hard to believe based on their circumstances, Akira was couldn’t help his curiosity.

“Where’s Akechi?”

“He couldn’t make it,” Makoto says before Ryuji could say a word. (Not that he would have, he seems to be preoccupied arguing with Ann.) “I messaged him earlier, but he says he has an important case to deal with.”

“‘Course he does,” Ryuji mutters under his breath. “The prick. I can’t _believe_ he’s one of us after all this time— _ouch!_ ” He glares across the table toward Ann, whose eyes narrow almost warningly.

It’s hard to make out from his position, but Akira doesn’t miss the way Ann gestures toward Sojiro. He’s still busy in the kitchen, humming a tune to himself as he works. Ryuji presses his lips together and then slumps further in his chair.

“We’ll be seeing him next week,” Makoto finishes.

“Ah.”

It takes less than five minutes for Ryuji and Ann to fall back into their earlier argument, thoughts of Akechi and what he was doing no longer a concern. Haru giggles at their antics while Makoto shakes her head.

“Honestly you two! You’ve been going on about this since the train ride over here,” Makoto sighs. She sounds both weary and amused, although the weariness in her expression wins out.

“It’s not my fault! Ann should just accept that I’m right!”

The blonde scoffs. “As if!”

Akira hands over their drinks once it’s ready, and steels himself for what he’s sure is coming. As if on cue, Ryuji and Ann whip their attention to Akira and nearly fly out of their chairs to _physically_ drag the poor boy into their argument when Makoto shoots them both a look. They freeze, mouths twisting in mid-sentence.

Akira tries his best to keep from laughing. “What’s going on?” He asks instead.

(Distantly, he’s aware of Yusuke’s gaze fixated on his back; can almost _hear_ what the artistic boy is saying in his mind. He grips the serving tray tighter, a spike of anxiety shoots into his veins.)

Makoto blows into her hot coffee, dispelling the smoke that dances from the brew in ethereal waves. Haru chuckles again, shaking her head.

“Don’t worry too much about it, Akira,” She says with a smile, wrapping her hands around the cup of freshly brewed coffee. “They’ve been like this since we met up at the train station.”

“It’s nothing serious,” Makoto cuts in.

Ryuji takes that moment to throw his hands up in the air as he groans dejectedly. Ann’s expression turns smug, as though she’s finally won their argument. Akira wouldn’t put it past her.

“They’re talking about a TV show.”

Akira quirks an eyebrow. “A TV show?”

She nods. “I tried asking for details, but they were too engrossed in their argument to really provide any.”

“It must be fun,” Haru smiles again. She takes a careful sip of her drink. “They’re so engrossed. It’s cute.”

“Engrossed? Looks more like a fight.” Futaba adds from her place at the bar.

Sojiro returns from the kitchen, sliding down their meals on the bar for Akira to take. He serves them their usual without a word and rejoins Futaba and Yusuke at the bar while the others dig into their curry. Ann and Ryuji’s argument settles for the moment, but the way Ryuji pouts into his meal while Ann beams is enough for Akira to know that whatever they were arguing about is far from over.

“Ugh, you guys are so gross,” Futaba complains from the counter, her eyes focused solely on the two blondes. “Stop flirting and eat already!”

“I am eating!” As if to prove his point, Ryuji shovels a large amount of curry into his mouth and tries his best not to choke.

Ann looks between disgusted with Ryuji’s actions and horrified by Futaba’s words. Her mouth opens and closes in an attempt to find a rebuttal, but she snaps her mouth shut when nothing comes to mind. Akira watches her for a moment, surprised--although admittedly, he supposes he shouldn’t be—by the light dusting of pink that graces her cheeks.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” She mutters into the straw of her drink. “As if!” She sourly sucks the rest of her juice, her expression just as pouty as Ryuji’s.

Futaba’s impish smile is enough to tell Akira that she’s on the same page as he is. He chuckles softly to himself. The rest of the gang fall into a tranquil silence after that, each of them content with their meals and their company.

Akira watches them from behind the counter again, a small inkling of happiness bubbles in his chest. It’s an image he never thought he would have in Tokyo or anywhere else really. Akira wasn’t much for making friends, and while his circumstances for ending up in Tokyo was less than ideal, he wouldn’t have traded his situation up for anything else in the world.

And just when his nerves were settled, the lingering thought of what Yusuke wanted them to do today nearly a distant memory, the boy in question clears his throat and shatters the serene atmosphere. 

All eyes turn to Yusuke, but his attention falls solely on Akira.

Akira’s muscles tense, though it goes unseen. From the corner of his eyes, he can see Sojiro glancing at them, probably concerned by their growing silence. If he lets the silence build, it’ll get harder and harder to speak. He steels himself with courage he doesn’t quite feel and meets Yusuke’s gaze head-on. He’s as ready as he’ll ever be.

The older boy chuckles.

“Akira and I have a confession to make,” he says. He turns to face the group, but his hand reaches out for Akira, who takes it without hesitation. “We are romantically involved and have been for quite some time.”

Akira’s grip on Yusuke’s hand tightens without him processing what he’s doing. The silence that blankets over them stretches out far longer than he would like, and while it’s not particularly tense or awkward, Akira can feel his anxiety mounting. It’s not until they start laughing that Akira realizes he’s nearly crushing Yusuke hand in his grip. (And yet Yusuke doesn’t ask him to let go. He keeps holding on even when they no longer have to.)

Ann is the first to speak: “So? I mean, congratulations! But, like, we already knew.” She giggles.

“Yeah, man, it was kinda obvious,” Ryuji adds in, his grin just as wide as Ann’s. “We figured something was up between you two but we didn’t want to press it, especially when it’s a weird subject— _ow!_ ” Ryuji glares across the table toward Ann, who meets his gaze with a glare of her own.

“What Ryuji _means_ to say—” Makoto interjects before an argument can break out. “—is that we weren’t sure if this was a topic of discussion you were comfortable having with us. So we decided to wait until you both were ready.”

Haru nods along with Futaba, who looks like she wants to say more but doesn’t. (Some part of Akira grows concerned. She still has his room bugged and although she’s promised not to listen in on his private conversation with others, he wonders how much of that is true when Yusuke is involved.)

Behind Futaba, Akira meets Morgana’s gaze. It’s hard to read Morgana’s expressions when he’s in full-fledged cat form, but the way his blue eyes stare deeply into Akira gives him a sense of comfort. Morgana, he suspects, knew all along, perhaps even before the rest of them did. And while they never really spoke about their concerns often or even in-depth, Akira knows Morgana is perceptive enough to sense when something was bothering him.

He can’t read the expression on Morgana’s face, but Akira _knows_ Morgana accepts this fact about him. And he _knows_ Morgana will not treat him any differently.

Sojiro clears his throat, inadvertently calling all of their attention to himself. Suddenly, Akira feels another wave of anxiety shoot into his veins as he turns to his caretaker. He’d been so caught up with worrying about what his friends would think of his relationship with Yusuke that he forgot to worry about what _Sojiro_ would think.

He tries his best to keep his expression devoid of emotion. He’s not sure if it works since Sojiro rubs his neck awkwardly as he faces the group.

“Uh, well, congratulations,” He says. “I’m not good at this. I don’t know what to say.”

“Your congratulations is enough,” Akira smiles weakly. “Thank you.”

Yusuke nods in agreement then bows in gratitude. Sojiro waves him off, muttering under his breath about being embarrassed and bowing in public. He gives Akira one last lingering look before announcing his temporary departure. With Akira in charge of the café for the moment, the rest of his friends bombard them with questions about their relationship and what they planned to do from there.

* * *

It’s not until he’s back from a long day outside with the group that Akira finds himself alone again with Morgana and Sojiro. He’s weary in more ways than one, his body exhausted from the long hours of being on his feet and his mind sluggish from the rush of anxiety he’d worked himself in earlier that day.

Morgana relieves him of part of his weight the moment they’re inside the café. He jumps onto a stool and digs into the plate of tuna Sojiro leaves out for him while the older man cleans up the last of their dirty dishes. Akira practically sinks into the stool beside Morgana, every joint and muscle in his body begging for a long, hot soak in the public bath across from them. He’s half-tempted to leave Morgana in the café and go for a soak on his own, but before he can muster enough strength to move, Sojiro is staring at him again, stroking his beard.

He’s too tired to work himself up; he doesn’t even register the adrenaline rush when their eyes connect and while Akira feels like he _should_ be concerned, he’s not. There’s nothing about Sojiro’s posture that gives him a sense of urgency. The man is watching him lazily, his eyes clouded with thoughts and his expression is unreadable.

For a moment, the only sounds that fill the room are Morgana’s happy little moans as he munches happily on his tuna.

“I know you were scared earlier,” Sojiro says, his voice low as though he’s not sure if this is something he should be talking about openly. Or even wants to. Akira has a hard time reading him and he can’t tell by the lack of inflection in Sojiro’s voice if this is going to be a good conversation or a bad one. “I just wanted you to know you didn’t have to be. Not with me, at least.”

Akira’s muscles relax. He wasn’t aware he’d been so tense.

“It’s none of my business what you do with your time, just as long as you’re not getting yourself into trouble. But stuff like this with that boy or your other friends, you don’t have to worry. It’s not going to be easy, but something tells me you already know that.”

He does but he doesn’t say a word.

“You have a safe place here, Akira. I want you to know that.”

He knows that too, but hearing it from Sojiro fills him with a sense of relief that can’t be verbalized. So he smiles instead and hopes it’s enough for him to understand.

To his relief, Sojiro does. He unties his apron and shoves it somewhere under the counter with a heavy sigh.

“Make sure you lock up before bed. And even though I’m okay with your preferences, that doesn’t mean I want him staying here overnight without supervision. I know I may not look like it, but I was young once. I know how stupid people can get when they’re in love.”

Akira chokes on his own spit, his face burning. He blatantly ignores Morgana’s snickering beside him and bids Sojiro a goodnight as the older man leaves. He groans into his hands once they’re finally alone.

He’s idly aware of Morgana’s eyes on him and he knows without having to look up that the conversation Morgana planned to have with him was finally here. And yet he’s too exhausted to acknowledge the feline.

Morgana jumps on the counter and pats his head with a small paw.

“Boss is right, you know. You didn’t have to worry so much.”

“I know.” And he does know, but habits are hard to break. He doesn’t expect Morgana to understand. He doesn’t have the energy to explain to Morgana his thought process or why he’d agonized over telling his friends for the past month and a half about his relationship with Yusuke.

Honestly, the situation was almost laughable. He was the leader of the phantom thieves, the fool to bring all these troublemaking kids together. As Joker, he was cocky and unafraid, but as Akira, he was terrified. How on Earth could he ever explain that to Morgana, who couldn’t even remember where he came from or why?

“Do you feel better at least?” Morgana asks after an unknown stretch of silence.

It startles Akira out of his thoughts.

“Yeah,” he says finally. “I do.”

“Good. Now you can sleep easily.”

“I always sleep easily.”

Morgana’s unenthused look is the only expression Akira can read on his face. It’s enough to make him chuckle.


	2. Black Moon

Akira wakes up far earlier than he would like the next morning and prepares for school in a sleepy daze. The good morning text Yusuke sends him warms his chest despite the unholy morning hours and while Morgana gives him a look that screams pure, utter judgment, Akira can’t find it in himself to care. Everything from the night before already feels like ancient history. In fact, he would have thought it all a dream if it weren’t for Morgana’s barely contained snickers or the impish gleam in his bright blue eyes. (If he weren’t so sleepy, he would’ve felt more embarrassed.) He hurriedly writes out a reply text that he ends up rewriting four times before forcing himself to focus on the day ahead. 

He’s already out the door before he realizes it and wonders if he even ate his courtesy breakfast curry or if he left the cafe in the zombie haze that he feels. Morgana mumbles commentaries from inside his bag as Akira makes his way out of the train and onto the platform for the next one when a familiar sight catches his eyes.

Akechi stands alone by a support pillar, his attention focused intently on his cell phone. He’s yet to notice Akira’s presence and for a split second, Akira has the urge to turn tail and run in the other direction before the older boy can acknowledge his presence. And yet, he doesn’t. He steps into Akechi’s peripheral.

“Morning.”

Akechi’s eyes tear themselves away from the screen before the polite smile graces his lips. “Ah, Kurusu-kun, what a pleasant surprise. It’s rather early for you to be on the train today.”

Akira couldn’t agree more. “It’s been known to happen.” He shrugs casually. He gestures toward the phone. “Anything good?”

“If you’re asking in regards to the case against the Phantom Thieves, the answer is no.”

The flash of panic that courses through him is instantaneous. Outwardly, Akira keeps himself cool and collected, but inwardly, he wonders if Akechi can read right through him. The other boy in question doesn’t seem to notice Akira’s second of worry, or perhaps doesn’t care. Akechi’s expression is calm and cheerful. He chuckles in good humor.

“Of course, that’s not exactly what I’m looking at.” He turns over the phone for Akira to see. Akira is surprised to see the familiar red and black theme of the Phantom Aficionado website staring back at him. “Are you familiar with the Phantom Aficionado website?”

“I’m familiar with it.” Akira murmurs. He can feel Morgana moving around in his school bag.

“It’s rather interesting what people on the forums have to say.” Akechi pockets his cell phone and gives Akira a sheepish smile. “I find it rather amusing, if I’m being quite honest. Although, lately it would seem a lot of the admin responses are quite concerning.”

“Concerning…?”

Akira tries to recall the last time he scrolled through Mishima’s forums, but nothing out of the ordinary comes to mind. He wasn’t one to often go onto his classmate’s website and even when he did, it was always to check on the site’s latest poll question. Since the disaster that was Okumura’s palace, the phantom thieves’ reputation had taken a turn for the worst and while Akira worried what that would mean for their Mementos missions, he hadn’t thought to check on Mishima’s posts.

The last he heard from the boy, Mishima was in the process of advocating for the Phantom Thieves’ innocence.

“You seemed concerned, Kurusu-kun. I hope I haven’t disturbed you.”

Akira shakes his head. “What kind of posts are they?”

“See for yourself. Your train has arrived.”

Sure enough, the second train that would carry Akira to school pulls up beside the platform. Akechi bids him goodbye before vanishing in the sea of nameless faces. Akira sighs heavily.

“Guess we’ll have to check it out when we can,” Morgana says, poking his head out of the bag. “Let’s get on. If we’re fast enough, maybe we’ll actually get a seat!”

* * *

Akira watches Mishima throughout majority of the class period. He gets caught, once or twice, by his teachers and tries to hide his embarrassment by answering their questions correctly. Mr. Ushimaru sends a bone chilling glare in Akira’s direction before he returns to the blackboard, droning on and on about historical events Akira is sure will end up on their next exam.

He catches sight of Ann’s barely contained giggle before she turns back around to focus on the board. Morgana’s barely audible sigh sounds from inside his desk. His eyes drift back toward Mishima. He freezes.

Mishima’s eyes are on him, the expression on his face a mixture of starry amazement and curiosity. He shies away from Akira’s gaze the moment he realizes he’s being watched and buries his nose into his notebook. He writes his notes in a flurry.

_“...lately it would seem a lot of the admin responses are quite concerning.”_ Akechi’s words filter back into his mind as he stares. He taps his pen against his notebook.

His phone weighs heavily in his pocket.

* * *

The lunch bell startles Akira out of his daze. The majority of his classmates are a flurry of blurred faces as they gather their lunches and dash out of the room. Akira immediately scans the remaining crowd for Mishima. He only manages to catch the back of Mishima’s head before the other boy is out of the classroom to who knows where.

Ryuji is in his line of sight before he has a chance to move.

“Hey man! Let’s grab some grub, I’m starving.”

“Me too!” Ann chimes in brightly, despite the bento wrapped up in pink cloth on her lap.

“Oh so you’re eating with us today? I thought you were going to have a girls’ lunch with Makoto and Haru.”

“You don’t have to sound so jealous,” Ann teases. “Haru wanted to eat with all of us today, so that’s what we’re doing. Let’s go!”

“I’m not jeal--whoa! _Hang on!_ ” But Ann doesn’t stop. She’s already halfway out of the classroom with Ryuji dragging behind her.

Akira follows them reluctantly, his thoughts elsewhere despite Morgana’s insistence that he pick up the pace before all the food is gone.

* * *

“How’s your sister holding up, Makoto?” Ann asks when there’s a lull in their regular conversation.

All eyes are on Makoto; the content smile on her face morphs into a wistful one. She smoothes out the crinkles edges of her napkin as a means to keep her hands occupied -- it was a habit Akira noticed she did whenever she thought about things that concerned her deeply.

“She’s been under a lot of pressure lately,” She confesses after a moment of hesitation. “I’ve told her, numerous times in fact, that she can confide her worries in me but she just…” Makoto shakes her head, a heavy sigh escaping her lips. Haru lays a comforting hand on her shoulder. “The sooner we can send out the calling card for her treasure, the better it’ll be for the both of us.”

Ryuji’s frustrated groan is loud enough that it echoes across the rooftop with startling clarity. “Tell me again why we can’t just send it now? I mean, we’ve got the treasure route secured already, right? This is the earliest we’ve ever got to a treasure room since Madarame’s palace and yet we’re sittin’ on our asses!”

“Akechi already explained why--”

“Man, fuck what that guy says! Why are we even listening to that damn detective in the first place?!”

“Because it makes perfect sense!” Morgana interjects, eyes hard. He glances between Ryuji and Makoto, the latter’s fists clenched tightly in her lap. “We’ve already been through this, Ryuji. Niijima-san will know we’re coming if we’re not careful. Sending out the calling card when we have this much time left before the deadline is more likely to sabotage our efforts that help us.”

“I guess but— _ugh_ , this is such bullshit.” Ryuji grumbles.

“I appreciate your concerns, Ryuji.” The smile Makoto gives him is genuine and grateful.

Ryuji mumbles a response and turns away away from the group in order to occupy himself with the small garden Haru’s been planting on the roof during her free time. The rest of the gang fall into quiet conversation then. Ann and Haru distract Makoto with ideas for a girl’s night while Morgana decides to bump heads with Ryuji.

Akira takes the opportunity to pull away from them. He pulls out his cell phone and clicks on the bookmarked page of the Phantom Aficionado website. Their latest poll ratings haven’t changed since this morning and while Akira laments the days when the score was so high, he’s grateful the numbers are still in the double digits despite their current scandal.

He flips through the latest forums in search for something.

Ryuji floats back to his side without warning. “Whatcha lookin’ for?” He asks after a moment of staring. “Is that Mishima’s Phandom site?”

“I saw Akechi on my way over here this morning,” Akira says instead, eyes still focused on the screen.

“And?”

“He said something.”

He can sense Ryuji’s eye roll even if he couldn’t see it. “I’m pretty sure that’s how conversations work, man.”

Akira’s phone screen is a blur of reds and blacks as he scrolls through the seemingly never ending list of conversations. Akira shakes his head with a sigh then pockets the phone when nothing jumps out at him.

“It’s nothing. Maybe I misunderstood.”

“What, are you serious?” Ryuji stares at him incredulously. His tone is loud enough to grab the attention of the others, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “You’re just gonna act all cryptic about that shit? C’mon dude, what did he say?”

“He likes to read through the forum responses sometimes,” Akira shrugs. “He thinks they’re funny.”

The look of disappointment that crosses Ryuji’s face is almost comical. Akira tries his best not to laugh. “Seriously? That’s _all_ he said?”

“What’s going on?”

“Akira ran into Akechi this morning, apparently.”

Morgana’s eyes light up in recollection. “Oh yeah! That's right, we were supposed to look into that Phantom Aficionado website.”

“Already did.” Akira cuts in before Ryuji could question him further. “I didn’t find anything out of the ordinary.”

“I see.” Morgana frowns. “Was it a fluke then?”

Akira shrugs. Ryuji stares between the two of them then throws up his hands in frustration.

* * *

He forgets about the forum and Akechi’s words by the end of the day. The last bell of the day jars him back to reality. In his pocket, his phone begins to vibrate as text messages from the chatroom start to spew. Distantly, he wonders if its Ryuji screaming about freedom from class or if Futaba picked another fight with Yusuke.

Ann bids him a farewell before he’s even gotten a chance to put Morgana in his bag and is out of the classroom in a flash.

“Oh Lady Ann,” He hears Morgana sigh. “She’s such a busy woman.”

_I’m pretty sure she just wants to be the first in line for those new pastries in the mall._ Akira chuckles to himself.

“Akira, I’m glad I could catch you!”

Akira shoulders his school bag haphazardly, nearly smacking Mishima in the face as he turns.

“Whoa there!” The boy chuckles. “That was close.”

“Mishima, you startled me.”

“Sorry! I’m really light on my feet.” He smiles sheepishly. “But I’m glad I could catch you! Are you busy right now?”

Akira mentally goes through the long list of things he had planned on doing today.

“Not really.”

Mishima’s eyes light up excitedly. “Great! Let’s go grab a bite to eat. We have a lot to talk about. I’ve been thinking up ways to help with the P-Thieves’ reputation.”

Mishima leads the way without waiting for a response. Akira can feel Morgana’s paws on his shoulder now that the room is empty of students.

“Really?” he deadpans. “He certainly doesn’t seem any different than usual.”

“Maybe Akechi was mistaken?”

Morgana doesn’t get a chance to reply. He sinks back into the bag just as Mishima returns around the corner with a quirked eyebrow.

“Sorry. I’m coming.” Akira shoves his hands into his pockets and follows Mishima out the door.

They’re halfway to the first floor when Ryuji catches sight of them.

“Yo, Akira! Mishima!”

“Sakamoto-kun,” Mishima says in greeting just as Ryuji trots toward them. “You’re still here?”

“Why do you sound so surprised? It’s been known to happen.” He shrugs. He glances between them, dark eyes curious. “Whaddya both up to?”

“We’re going to get lunch.”

“Lunch sounds great. We should go get ramen!” Ryuji grins. “C’mon, they’re having a sale today and I don’t wanna miss it.” He leads the way for them, deaf to Mishima’s protests.

Mishima glances Akira’s way, his brows furrowed. “I guess we’ll talk about it later.” He grumbles then follows behind.

Akira watches his back for a moment, a sliver of worry suddenly nestling onto his mind. The image of Mishima’s face reappears in his mind’s eye. Something about it unsettles him. Ryuji inviting himself into their plans shouldn’t have been that much of an issue. After all, Mishima always butted into Ryuji’s plans whenever Akira was involved, but in that very moment, it almost seemed like… he was angry.

Furious, even.

Was Mishima really that angry?


	3. Waxing Crescent

“ _Maaaaan_ , I know you’re the quiet type, but even by your standards this is too much.” Ryuji drawls the moment the three of them head back into the train station after their meal. “Where’s  
your head been all day, Akira?”

“Thinking,” Akira shrugs.

Ryuji sighs in frustration, but he doesn’t press further. He turns his attention back to Mishima and falls into a rant Mishima is only happy to indulge in.

With their bellies full of delicious ramen and their pockets a few yen emptier than before, Akira finds himself feeling content and relaxed for the first time in ages. Despite his earlier concern about Mishima’s behavior, the boy in question hadn’t acted any differently than usual during their time at the ramen shop in Ogikubo. In fact, Akira was almost convinced he had been imagining things in the first place. It wouldn’t have been the first time. His mind was a mess of worries – Sae’s palace, Makoto’s wellbeing, Akechi, Yusuke – he didn’t need to add Mishima on top of his very long list of worries.

He tunes back into the conversation just in time to catch Mishima’s question.

“Should we try to do another Operation Maidwatch?”

“Nah. That stuff’s too complicated. Besides, it’d only be the two of us. Akira’s already spoken for.” Ryuji elbows Akira’s arm playfully as though to further congratulate him, but Akira’s attention is torn away by Mishima, who freezes in place, his expression suddenly devoid of emotion.

Ryuji turns back to Mishima, his eyebrows furrowed. “Hey man, what gives? We’re gonna miss the train.”

“Is that true?” Mishima asks.

“Huh?”

Mishima is in Akira’s face before either boy can blink. He peers into Akira’s eyes, searchingly. It’s unsettling. He takes a step back and says, “You didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend. When did that happen?”

“Uh, yeah, about that.” Ryuji cuts in before Akira can say a word. “It’s not a girl.”

“It’s not a girl?”

“Not a girl.” Ryuji clarifies.

The air between the three of them grows awkward. Akira is hyper-aware of Morgana shifting around in his backpack; hyper-aware of the way Ryuji’s muscles grow tense as though ready to do _something_. But more than that, he’s aware of the way Mishima stares into his eyes. The mixture of emotions he sees is hard to make out when it used to be so simple. He suddenly smiles then, and somehow, Akira’s hackles raise. The smile on his face doesn’t match the look in his eyes. It’s disjointed and _fake_. Familiar.

It’s unpleasant.

“Congrats, Akira. I had no idea.”

The tension in the air dispels. Ryuji visibly relaxes beside him but Akira remains tense.

“Thank you.” Akira murmurs quietly.

“Hey so, I’ve got a lot of homework to do, so if you guys don’t mind, I’ll be heading home,” Mishima says without a beat.

Ryuji frowns but says: “Yeah man, it’s cool. See ya in school tomorrow.”

It’s not until Mishima is no longer visible in the crowd of commuters does Ryuji finally heave the heavy breath he’d been holding.

“That was awkward as hell.” He groans.

Morgana pops his head out of the bag. “You’re telling me! I could _feel_ that awkwardness from all the way inside the bag! And why’d you tell him about _that_ of all things anyway? It’s not your business to tell!”

“It just slipped out!” Ryuji cries. “It’s my bad, Akira. I won’t do that again.”

Akira shakes his head. “It’s fine. No harm done.”

“There definitely shouldn’t be a next time,” Morgana grumbles in Akira’s stead.

“Oh shut up.”

* * *

Akira is cozy and warm in his makeshift bed when something tugs at his consciousness. It’s loud and unpleasant, yet not quite strong enough to sink him back into reality. He drifts further off into sleep, no longer bothered by the heavy tenor of Igor’s voice or the twins’ berating him for his lack of discipline. Tonight was a good night and he lost himself within the realm of dreams.

_Vrrrrrrr! Vrrrrrrrr!_

Distantly, Akira feels movement around his legs. Concern slithers into his subconscious, but just like everything else, it disappears into the oblivion that is the lovely dream date he's having with Yusuke. They're in the park, Yusuke carrying a sketchpad and extra materials while Akira holds onto their basket. They're alone this time, no Morgana to eavesdrop, or Futaba to tease them or Ann and Ryuji to bicker beside them. It's just them together, the cherry blossoms fluttering in the wind as the fresh scent of spring caresses their noses.

_Vrrrrrrrrrrr! Vrrr!_

Something moves again.

In his dream, a bee buzzes around Akira’s head. He tries to swat the damnable insect but fails every time. Yusuke doesn’t seem to notice. His mouth moves, but the words are hard to understand.

_“I’m sorry?”_

Yusuke speaks. The words are gibberish.

Akira frowns, disconcerted. _“Are you alright?”_

Yusuke’s pleasant smile turns sour. He opens his mouth a second time and _screams_ —

Akira jerks forward with a gasp. Morgana, who had been perched on his chest, goes flying across the bed and tumbles to the floor in an ungraceful heap. He scrambles back onto his paws, tail three sizes bigger than normal.

“Are you trying to kill me?!” He screeches.

Akira frantically searches around the dark attic for a moment, his chest heaving as his heart batters itself against his ribcage. It takes him a couple of seconds to realize there’s no imminent threat despite the gleam in Morgana’s eyes that makes him think he’ll find his uniform covered in cat fur at some point in the future. It takes him longer to realize the incessant buzzing he’d been hearing in his dream was not from a bee but from his phone. It vibrates once or twice besides his pillow before going still, its screen jet black in the darkness.

Morgana rejoins him on the bed as he reaches for the device and huffs.

“Jeez, I don’t even want to know what time it is.”

Akira agrees yet the moment he turns on his phone, the entire screen lights up with a long list of missed notifications. They’re all from Mishima.

He glances at the clock. 4:05 AM.

Morgana’s frustrated groan mirrors Akira’s sentiments. He jumps off the bed and heads down the steps, all the while grumbling under his breath. Akira watches him go, a small, tired smile gracing his lips. He unlocks the phone soon after and scrolls back to when the messages first begin.

 

MISHIMA YUUKI (2:31 am): hey

MISHIMA YUUKI (2:31 am): I know ur probably asleep, but I was thinking about today.

MISHIMA YUUKI (2:32 am): we didn’t get a chance to properly talk about things because Sakamoto crashed our lunch date

MISHIMA YUUKI (2:32 am): plans** sorry its late, and ur asleep. I’ll try to make this quick, I promise!

MISHIMA YUUKI (2:32 am): but I just wanted to say that I don’t think its weird

MISHIMA YUUKI (2:34 am): about you dating someone. I mean.

MISHIMA YUUKI (2:34 am): like a boy. I don’t think its weird.

MISHIMA YUUKI (2:36 am): you’re really brave, Akira. It's what I admire about you.

MISHIMA YUUKI (2:40 am): Thanks for being my friend.

 

Morgana’s paws tread lightly across the wooden floor as he returns to the attic. Akira barely gives him a glance when he rejoins him on the bed, a drop of water hangs precariously from his furry chin. He licks it with his tongue.

“Anything important?”

Akira gives him a small smile.

Morgana snorts. “I’ll take that as a no. Best to get some sleep, leader. We still have class tomorrow and I’m _not_ going to let you sleep in late.”

Akira chuckles. “Good night, Morgana.”

The feline curls beside Akira’s legs. He’s out in an instant, the soft, whistling pews of his breath the only sound in the attic. He returns to the phone. He still has more messages to read.

 

MISHIMA YUUKI (3:00 am): what's he like?

MISHIMA YUUKI (3:00 am): your boyfriend I mean.

MISHIMA YUUKI (3:00 am): I bet he’s cool

MISHIMA YUUKI (3:01 am): he’s gotta be cool if he’s dating you.

MISHIMA YUUKI (3:19 am): I didn’t know you were into guys, Akira.

MISHIMA YUUKI (3:22 am): was that something you didn’t want to tell me?

MISHIMA YUUKI (3:22 am): I mean, I don’t blame you, I hear all kinds of stories online about stuff like that, but we’re friends, right?

MISHIMA YUUKI (3:23 am): you could’ve told me. I wouldn’t have judged you.

MISHIMA YUUKI (3:23 am): I’ve been keeping your secret for this long after all

MISHIMA YUUKI (3:26 am): does he know you’re a phantom thief?

MISHIMA YUUKI (3:26 am): shoot, I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. Please ignore that.

MISHIMA YUUKI (3:35 am): I’m sorry, I’m being weird. I’ll leave you alone.

MISHIMA YUUKI (3:40 am): I’ll see you in school tomorrow.

MISHIMA YUUKI (3:55 am): is he a phantom thief too?

MISHIMA YUUKI (4:00 am): good night akira

 

Akira releases a heavy breath. His muscles are uncomfortably tense and his neck aches in the way it does when he’s been in one position for too long. He shuts off his phone without a word and leaves it beside his pillow as he lays back down in bed. His heart is racing against his chest, though he’s not sure why.

It takes him ages to fall back to sleep and when he does, he dreams of nothing.

* * *

He meets Makoto on the train despite his lateness. She looks tired, with dark circles under her eyes and fair skin paler than usual. The rest of her appears prim and proper, her hair is immaculate and she carries her school bag tightly in her hands, but Akira knows something is off—can sense it in the way her movements seem stiff and her shoulders tense.

The train pulls up before he has a chance to greet her and she vanishes immediately within the crowd. He’s not the only one to notice.

“I hope nothing is wrong with Niijima-san,” Morgana murmurs just as Akira boards the same train. It’s packed with commuters today, more so than usual. There’s no way he can find her in this crowd. “Still, it must be agonizing on Makoto, to know that we’ve already secured the palace but can’t change her sister’s heart.”

“Maybe we can…”

“Akira!” Morgana hisses. Akira keeps himself close to the exit, his school bag clutched tightly against his chest. Morgana keeps his voice low; it’s difficult to hear above the aimless chatter of the train. “You _know_ why we can’t.”

“I _know_ ,” Akira frowns. “Doesn’t mean I like it.”

Morgana’s expression is sympathetic. He dives back into the comfort of the school bag when the train pulls to a stop. Akira steps out onto the platform in search for Makoto, but she’s nowhere to be seen.

* * *

Mishima’s eyes are on him for the first two periods of class time. He ignores him at first but by the third period, Akira feels as though Mishima’s eyes are burning into his soul. He whips out his phone and writes a hasty text.

 

            YOU (10:00 AM): Mishima, you’re going to get in trouble.

 

He watches from the corner of his eyes as Mishima jumps in his chair. He hastily tries to play it casual, the student neighboring him barely gives him a glance. He sets his phone on his lap and lets his thumb fly across the screen. Akira’s phone vibrates in his hand.

 

            MISHIMA YUUKI (10:00 AM): I’m sorry, but I was worried.

            MISHIMA YUUKI (10:00 AM): did you get my texts from last night?

            MISHIMA YUUKI (10:01 AM): I was acting weird. Sorry for texting you so late.

 

Morgana’s inquisitive gaze stares back at Akira, the feline having just read the messages, but Akira doesn’t bother to explain.

 

            YOU (10:01 AM): It’s OK. They didn’t wake me.

 

Morgana snorts. His phone vibrates.

 

            MISHIMA YUUKI (10:02 AM): ur not mad right?

            MISHIMA YUUKI (10:02 AM): we still have to talk about my strategy plans later

            MISHIMA YUUKI (10:03 AM): do you have time after school?

 

Akira bites his lower lip.

 

            YOU (10:04 AM): I made plans already. Sorry.

            MISHIMA YUUKI (10:04 AM): that’s ok, kinda figured already

            MISHIMA YUUKI (10:05 AM): by the way, have you been keeping up with the site?

            MISHIMA YUUKI (10:05 AM): I’ve been hard at work trying to keep people from slandering the PT’s reputation.

            MISHIMA YUUKI (10:06 AM): you wouldn’t believe how many people can say what they wanna say on an anonymous forum like this one.

            MISHIMA YUUKI (10:06 AM): its been tough work, but I’m doing my best. Can’t have them spreading lies about you guys, right?

            MISHIMA YUUKI (10:07 AM): are you going out on a date with your boyfriend?

 

“Man, this guy doesn’t quit, does he?” Morgana whispers with a shake of his head.

Akira’s palms feel uncomfortably sweaty. He wipes them against his thighs and steals a glance toward Mishima’s direction. He’s staring again. His gaze is intense.

Akira writes out his response then slips the device back into his pocket.

 

            YOU (10:09AM): We’ll talk later.

 

Mishima’s response is instantaneous, but Akira doesn’t dare pull out his phone again. Mishima’s eyes burn into him throughout the rest of the period.

* * *

They’re on the rooftop again during lunch when Akira’s phone vibrates. He ignores it and focuses on his food. He nibbles on the sandwich, his appetite souring the stronger his phone vibrates. Morgana watches him, his ear flicking in his direction. Akira wonders if the feline can hear the vibrations.

“Man, what is up with Mishima lately?”

Akira glances toward Ryuji, who sits beside him on one of the empty, abandoned desks left on the rooftop. In the blond’s hand is the boy’s phone. Akira can’t see the screen from where he stands, but he can tell by the expression on Ryuji’s face that he’s scrolling through something.

“He sent me, like, a bazillion text messages at ass o’clock in the morning. I lost precious sleep because of that guy!”

“That’s odd. He sent Akira text messages this morning too.”

“Did he? No wonder you look like shit.”

Akira shoots his best friend a dark glare that makes the other boy laugh.

“Can’t hate me for being honest though. You look like crap.”

“Thanks,” Akira mutters. “What did he text you about?”

Ryuji shrugs. “Nothin’ serious.” He tears into his sandwich with such force, Akira would’ve thought the guy hadn’t eaten in ages. “Just some shit ‘bout the site and anons.”

Akira frowns. “That’s all?”

“Right? I thought the guy was having a meltdown, but nope! Turns out it was just unnecessary bullshit.” Ryuji swallows his mouthful then goes in for another bite. “Would’ve been nice if it was ‘bout another Mementos mission.”

Morgana nods in agreement. “We still have a good handful to complete now that we’ve got the time.”

Akira pulls away from the conversation, his mind wandering back to earlier this morning when he’d seen Makoto on the train. He hadn’t seen her since then, although that wasn’t surprising. Makoto was a third year and Student Council President. She was busier than he was when it came to school activities and while Makoto made the time to hang out with them during their lunch periods, she didn’t usually. Today, he was in luck.

She sat with Ann and Haru by the garden side, each of them speaking in hushed whispers and giggling over jokes Akira had no intention of understanding. Staring at her now, it was almost easy to forget why he’d been worried in the first place. She didn’t look as worn out as she did that morning. In the company of Ann and Haru, Makoto was relaxed. She smiled easily and the fairness of her skin seemed more natural than sickly as it had appeared before. If it weren’t for the shadows that ringed her eyes, he would’ve believed whatever troubles that plagued her had resolved themselves. But life wasn’t that easy for them. He needed to know she was alright.

“Makoto,” Akira says the moment he’s within earshot. “Can we talk?”

Makoto’s eyebrows raise into her hairline in surprise. “Certainly. Please watch over my bento, ladies.”

Haru and Ann chime their reassurances as Makoto leaves behind her bento box. She joins Akira by the farthest edge of the roof where they are out of earshot from the curious gazes of their fellow companions.

“What is it?”

“I saw you on the train earlier,” Akira begins. He leans against the metal chain link fence that protects him from a long, dangerous fall. “You were late today.”

A blush of embarrassment paints Makoto’s cheeks. She stammers for an explanation then clears her throat to recollect herself.

“I had trouble sleeping last night,” she confesses. She takes her place beside him and clasps her fingers against her lap. “Akechi keeps me updated on my sister’s condition since he sees her more often than I do. Some of the things he told me… well, it made me worry.”

“I debated on whether or not I should have troubled you,” she continues. “But, it was so late at night, I ultimately decided against disturbing you. I’m sorry if I made you worry.”

Akira shakes his head. “Don’t be. You know I’m always here for you.” (The phone in his pocket vibrates unpleasantly.) “We only have to wait a few more weeks. We’ll change her heart soon, I promise.”

The smile Makoto gives him is both warm and pleasant, but it dims far too quickly for his pleasure. At that moment she turns to face him completely, her brows creased into a worry that was readily becoming a permanent feature on her face. He already knows what she plans on saying before she gets the opportunity to say it. An image of Akechi’s pleasant and polite smile flashes in his mind’s eye. He can tell just by looking at her expression, that she too can see the same mental image.

“I know we will,” Her voice is low, barely above a whisper. “Have you told Yusuke yet? About…” She doesn’t finish. Doesn’t need to.

Akira shakes his head.

She bites her bottom lip. “Akira, you must tell him. You have to tell all of them, but _especially_ Yusuke.”

“I know,” Akira sighs, the weight of exhaustion presses heavily against his shoulders. “I will, but we need a plan first. I don’t want him to worry. I don’t want _anyone_ to worry.”

“We’re thinking—”

“I know.” It’s his turn to smile. He hopes it’s as warm and reassuring as Makoto’s. “I know.”

His phone finally stops vibrating.


	4. Harvest moon

It had been a long and taxing week, but Akira is grateful for the reward that awaited him that Friday afternoon. His date with Yusuke is something he’s been looking forward to since Yusuke brought it up the night before. It was unexpected, yes, and definitely last minute, but if there's anything Akira was good at it was improvising.

He’d cleared out the rest of his Friday afternoon specifically for Yusuke and while Mishima’s awkward text messages and his thinly veiled attempts in scouring information on who Akira was dating bother him more than he wants to admit, he's grateful for today’s distractions.

(Makoto’s words from earlier in the week float back into Akira's mind, and while he knows she has a good point—Yusuke is well within his rights to know what's going to happen at the very end of Sae’s palace—Akira can't bring himself to confess. Not yet. Not when Morgana, Futaba, and Makoto have yet to solidify a backup plan.)

Akira shoves those pesky thoughts aside and focuses his attention on the here-and-now. He physically brightens the moment he catches sight of Yusuke waiting beside the entrance way to the underground walkway.

“Yusuke!”

Yusuke turns his way. The smile that splits across his face is breathtaking, Akira nearly trips over his own feet at the sight of it. Heat crawls up along the nape of his neck.

“Did you wait long?” He asks.

Yusuke chuckles. “No, I've only just arrived.” His eyes rake across Akira’s form carefully, slender brows furrowing in perplexity.

“Wh-what is it?” This time, Akira can feel the heat of a blush warm his cheeks. He hopes it doesn’t show.

Yusuke hums thoughtfully. “I was under the impression you would bring Morgana to our outing today.”

“He decided to stay with Futaba. He didn’t want to third wheel on our date.”

“I see. Forgive my selfishness for saying this, but I’m thankful he’s not here. Spending time with you is one of my greatest pleasures.”

Akira feels too warm in his jacket. He runs a hand through his hair nervously. “Sh-shall we go?”

Yusuke’s warm smile is the only answer Akira needs.

* * *

The lake is just as beautiful as it was when Akira first came here with Yusuke that past summer. It's less active now than it was back then and while the weather is considerably warm for autumn, the lake has fewer visitors than when Yusuke took Akira out into it in search for inspiration.

Now, as they stroll along the pathway, the lake’s waters tranquil and shimmering beneath the bright rays of the afternoon sun, Akira feels a sense of peace settling pleasantly in his chest. His hand brushes against Yusuke's, their proximity close yet still too far for his liking. A number of thoughts race through his mind. He toys with the idea of reaching out and grabbing his boyfriend’s hand. He imagines their fingers intertwining, molding together like jigsaw pieces in a puzzle, but as quick as the thought appears, he hastily shoves it away. Another wave of heat crawls up against his neck. He curses mentally.

A quick glance in Yusuke’s direction lets Akira know his boyfriend isn’t watching him. He’s distracted by the beauty of the world around him; how the pathways are littered in colorful leaves; how, despite the trees being mostly barren, they’re still radiant in the way their empty branches reach for the heavens. The barest hint of a content smile lays permanently on Yusuke’s lips and Akira is suddenly overcome with the urge to kiss him.

He wants to so badly grab Yusuke’s hand, pull him into his chest and kiss him beneath the barren trees. And yet, Akira does nothing but keeps his pace with Yusuke and watches him discreetly from the corner of his eye.

He feels dumb for feeling shy.

It isn’t like it would be their first kiss. It wouldn't be their second or third, and they’d done way more than what his imagination could think of. And yet, as Akira watches the awe take hold of Yusuke, his whole body grows warm—not from embarrassment—but from happiness.

Suddenly, Yusuke is no longer beside him but in front of him. Akira stops in his tracks, his body nearly colliding into Yusuke. They’re chest to chest, close but not too close. Akira can feel the hot puff of breath against his nose; can see the very details of Yusuke’s irises or the long length of his lashes as he blinks. It’s a familiar sight and it fills his heart with joy.

Yusuke stares intently into his eyes, his gaze penetrating deep into his soul.

“You seem so far away, lately,” Yusuke murmurs. His hands are on Akira’s face, warm and calloused from the various art projects Yusuke busies himself with. “What has you so preoccupied?”

“ _You_ ,” Akira breathes.

Astonishment passes through Yusuke’s eyes before the taller boy chuckles. He rests his forehead against Akira’s, their body’s flushed together. His hands are still cradling Akira’s face, gentle and warm. It’s a reassuring comfort. It’s familiar. Safe.

“Is that so? Perhaps I should rectify the situation.”

Yusuke’s lips are so close. He can feel the warmth of Yusuke’s breath against his own. A thousand and one scenarios flash through his mind, but Akira does not dwell on either. Without warning, he slides a hand behind Yusuke’s neck and pulls him close. Their lips come together, a little clumsily at first, but soft and sweet. They mold against the other in a dance of familiarity. A wave of heat courses through Akira’s veins from the tips of his toes all the way to the top of his scalp. A soft, breathy moan escapes his throat and suddenly, Yusuke’s mouth devours his in ferocious want. He feels the other boy’s arm snake around his waist, pulling him closer than was humanly possible.

Akira’s senses dim, overloaded by everything that is entirely _Yusuke_. He’s vaguely aware that they’re still out in public and kissing as passionately as they are was not exactly socially acceptable, _especially_ when it was between two males. Reluctantly and painfully so, Akira slides his palms between their chests and pushes.

“Y-Yusuke,” He’s breathless, hot and wants nothing more than to continue their make out session, but the last thing Akira wants is to explain to Sojiro why he’s in trouble for public indecency. “We can save this for later. We have the rest of the date to enjoy first.”

Yusuke looks torn. His lips are still close, barely a breath away from another kiss, but Akira keeps his hands against Yusuke’s thin chest. He sighs reluctantly.

“Very well. We shall save ourselves for later.”

“Later,” Akira reiterates with a smile.

Yusuke pulls away and, suddenly, Akira’s stomach drops. Standing just a few feet away from them is Mishima, his face a mask of indifference.

“Oh, Mishima-kun,” Yusuke’s tone is about as flat as the expression on his face. “It’s rather improper of you to watch a couple in the midst of their romance.”

Akira tries to keep himself calm in the face of the situation he’s found himself in. He tries not to react to Yusuke’s blunt words in favor of focusing on Mishima’s body language. Nothing about his posture gives away what he’s thinking. His face remains frustratingly blank and while Akira is somewhat grateful for Mishima’s tact, he’s also uncomfortable with the lack of emotion.

It takes Mishima an awkward minute of two to process Yusuke’s words. He blinks out of the stupor he’s fallen into and starts to chuckle sheepishly.

“Wow that was rude of me. I should’ve said something!” He rubs the back of his neck as he laughs, but his laughter doesn’t sound natural in Akira’s ears. Mishima’s eyes fall onto Akira the moment he’s done laughing and says, “So _he’s_ your boyfriend, huh?” Mishima’s dark eyes trail back to Yusuke; they’re impossible to read. “I guess I should have known.”

Yusuke raises a curious eyebrow, but Mishima is already brushing past them before either of them can say a word.

“Sorry for interrupting your date!”

“Mishima—”

“I’ll talk to you later, _Akira_.” Mishima’s emphasis on his name is not lost on either of them, but he’s already halfway down the path before Yusuke can comment on it.

They remain a few moments longer until Mishima is completely out of their sight before Yusuke turns his attention back toward Akira. Akira’s whole body is flushed in embarrassment. He buries his face into his hands and releases a mortified groan.

“That could’ve gone better,” He mutters.

Yusuke huffs beside him. He pulls Akira’s hands away from his face and stares into his dark eyes. “There is no need to be embarrassed. We were simply swept up in the moment of our passion. If Mishima-kun found that to be of disturbance then I pity him for his narrow mindedness.”

“It’s more complicated than that, Yusuke.” Akira sighs. The confusion that crosses Yusuke’s face prompts Akira to continue. “I don’t know what’s been up with him lately, but ever since Ryuji told him I was seeing someone, he’s been kinda… in my face about it.”

“In what way?”

Yusuke links their hands together as they resume their walk. Akira feels the butterflies in his stomach flutter from the contact. He squeezes. Yusuke squeezes back.

“Don’t worry about it. He’s just excitable. He doesn’t mean any harm.”

“This is not the first time you have commented on his excitability, Akira.” Akira watches the frown morph Yusuke’s smile the moment his name slips past Yusuke’s lips. “Also, the familiarity in which he refers to you is rather discomforting.”

“He’s like that. He does that with everyone.”

“I see.” They fall into a comfortable silence then. The subject is dropped seconds later and Akira has enough sense to keep his thoughts to himself despite the harrowing image of Mishima’s indifference ingrained behind his eyelids.

(It comes as no surprise, that while Akira was preoccupied with Yusuke, he failed to notice the second pair of eyes that watched him from a distance.)

* * *

Mishima’s chest feels like it's on fire. There’s a pain deep inside that seems to be searing across his wildly beating heart. He clutches his shirt in a desperate attempt to reach his chest and while he’d been nothing but calm in the face of both boys, deep down, he felt like screaming. Now, as he shambles through the park with heavy pants and beads of sweat dripping down his temples, Mishima can’t contain himself. He falls to his knees and screams.

He smashes his fists into the hard ground, blind to the pain as small rocks cut into skin. He smacks them hard, over and over again until his throat is raw from screaming and the sides of his hands are scrapped raw and throbbing. And yet, he can’t feel the pain.

A chorus of thoughts race through his mind like a freight train. Images of Akira, of that eccentric weirdo; their proximity—their _kissing_ —they course through his mind like an unwanted film reel. The voices he hears in his head sound like the kids who used to tease him. They call him names in loud, unending chants. From the chaos, he can barely make out Kamoshida’s voice, can practically feel the bastard’s fists against his flesh as he beats him; he can hear Akiyama-kun call him worthless over and over again. The voices morph and crescendo until they’re an amalgamation of senseless sound and chaos until—

It stops.

Mishima grounds himself into reality. His bloody, pained fingers dig into the sidewalk.

“No.” He growls, frustrated and burning with a hurricane of emotion he can’t decipher or cares to pinpoint. “After everything I’ve done for them? For _him_?!”

He pushes himself off the ground and makes the long arduous journey back home. He’s a mess by the time he returns home. The house is devoid of life as his parents are still at work and while dinner is fresh and ready in the fridge for him to eat, Mishima is blind to the needs of his body.

The pain in his chest still burns. He feels like his heart is tearing into pieces. Distantly, a part of him wonders if it’s the work of the Phantom Thieves, but immediately as the thought comes, it’s gone.

He heads for the laptop, still panting, still sweaty; still covered in bits of dried blood.

 _After everything I’ve done for you_. A familiar voice whispers in his mind. _After everything. Why him? Why him? Whyhimwhyhimwhyhim—_

_Why not me?_

The sound of laptop keys ticking fill the heavy silence.

* * *

 Akira startles awake in the middle of the night. The phone beside him vibrates uncontrollably as incoming texts light up the dark attic. Morgana is dead asleep by his feet, too far out of proximity for the light to disturb him and too deep in sleep to feel Akira’s movements. With a heavy sigh, Akira grabs the phone and checks.

Mishima’s name stares at him. His heart fills with dread.

 

MISHIMA YUUKI (3:00 AM): Hey, I just wanted to let you know I’m really not bothered that youre dating a guy

MISHIMA YUUKI (3:00 AM): even if it is Kitagawa-kun

MISHIMA YUUKI (3:00 AM): not that he’s a bad guy or anything

MISHIMA YUUKI (3:01 AM): hes a little weird and talks to himself a lot

MISHIMA YUUKI (3:01 AM): but if you like him then I guess its ok

MISHIMA YUUKI (3:03 AM): Do you like him, Akira?

MISHIMA YUUKI (3:03 AM): is that the kind of guy you like? Tall and pretty?

MISHIMA YUUKI (3:04 AM): you do realize he’s weird right?

MISHIMA YUUKI (3:06 AM): do you like him because he’s a painter? He’s talented. They have his stuff online.

MISHIMA YUUKI (3:07 AM): he’s one of Madarame’s students right? He must be really talented. Maybe he’s more talented than I give him credit for since Madarame was exposed for plagiarism.

MISHIMA YUUKI (3:10 AM): what does he have that I don’t have?

MISHIMA YUUKI (3:12 AM): I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.

MISHIMA YUUKI (3:12 AM): But I really would like to know

MISHIMA YUUKI (3:13 AM): After everything I’ve done for you and the PT

MISHIMA YUUKI (3:20 AM): I know its not my place but he’s not good for you, Akira. I’ll prove it.

 

Akira sits up in bed before he realizes what he’s doing. His stomach sours the longer he reads and his heart increases pace. His eyes widen in surprise as his phone alerts him to Mishima’s typing. His thumb flies across the screen before his brain can process what he’s doing. He sends the text impulsively.

 

            YOU (3:25 AM): Mishima, stop this please.

 

Mishima’s incoming text bubble disappears. Akira watches it carefully, hackles rising. The triple dots appear in the corner of the chat a second time, but Akira doesn’t wait. He sends more texts.

 

            YOU (3:26 AM): this isn’t like you

            YOU (3:26 AM): who I date doesn’t concern you

 

            MISHIMA YUUKI (3:27 AM): IT DOES CONCERN ME

            MISHIMA YUUKI (3:27 AM): I AM THE OFFICIAL DIRECTOR OF THE PHANTOM THIEVES

            MISHIMA YUUKI (3:27 AM): THIS. CONCERNS. ME!

 

Akira tears himself away from the phone in a heartbeat. He shuts it off despite Mishima’s incoming messages and runs shaky fingers through his hair. He couldn’t keep doing this.


	5. Snow Moon

Yusuke values his sense of privacy and silence when it came to working on his art pieces. It's one of the few things he misses from living in the Atelier with Madarame and while it was often a source of loneliness, he can't deny the place had its perks. Living in the dorms in Kosei was the exact opposite of living in the Atelier. While he does have his privacy, the walls of his dorm room are paper thin and, most often, Yusuke finds himself unable to immerse himself into his work thanks to the loud ongoings of his classmates.

Today, however, is a rare reprieve as the dorm is nothing _but_ silent, and while a part of Yusuke finds that particularly odd—especially since it's Saturday morning—he decides not to look a gift horse in its mouth and takes advantage of the moment. From before dawn of that morning to now, Yusuke was hard at work on his largest piece.

His room is bare save for the necessities and his newly cleaned pajamas are already covered in paint splatters, Yusuke immerses himself into his latest project, which is, unfortunately, also his greatest enemy. With careful strokes, he spreads layers upon layers of paint across the canvas with such intensity, it bounces off the canvas and onto his flesh. He smears the paint across his cheeks absentmindedly, dark eyes scanning the latest shiny layer before he collapses to the ground in dramatic defeat.

“Perhaps this is far beyond my capabilities,” he sighs. “How can I possibly capture Ann’s radiant beauty if she absolutely refuses to come to the dorm and model?” He glances toward his easel where a sketched image of the painting he had in mind stares back at him. He stares back at the giant piece before him.

It looks nothing like the sketch.

Yusuke’s groan is loud and heart-wrenching.

“Perhaps,” he begins again, rising to his feet slowly. “I should rest for now.”

He goes about his room collecting and closing paint bottles and gathers his supplies for cleaning. He wipes off the splattered paint on his arms but forgets the smears of blue and red on his cheeks as he cleans. An image of Akira smiling floats into Yusuke’s mind and something warm fills his chest.

“Ah, yes, what an excellent idea.” He says to no one. With his hands dry, Yusuke disconnects his phone from the charger and texts his boyfriend.

He gets no response.

Yusuke calls instead.

The phone doesn’t connect.

“That is… rather unexpected.” Yusuke exits the eerily silent dorm and makes his way toward the nearest vending machine for a snack. He clicks onto the group chat and sends out a message as he walks. The response is immediate.

Yusuke remains oblivious to the stares that greet him. Various eyes follow him as he walks and whispers begin to fill the hall until the silence is replaced with the obnoxious half-whispers of students in the dorm. It’s not until he reaches the vending machine does he snap out of his thoughts.

Futaba’s message is the last thing that pops up on screen but he doesn’t get a chance to read it as he digs into his pockets for some change. He hopes he has at least that much.

“Can you believe that?”

“Who would have thought?”

“It’s no wonder he’s so strange.”

“Doesn’t surprise me—”

“—what a pervert—”

“A person like that? In Kosei of all places? What a disgrace.”

Yusuke slips the right amount of yen into the vending machine and presses the buttons he needs for the snack he wants. The fine hairs on the back of his neck raise upward as eyes bear into his back. He glances behind him and frowns slightly at the number of people who immediately turn away. Their whispers don’t stop.

Suddenly, it hits him and his frown grows more prominent.

_Are they talking about me?_

Yusuke grabs his snack and retreats to his dorm room without a word.

 

            KITAGAWA YUSUKE (10:00 AM): It would seem that I am the topic of interest in the dorms.

            SAKURA FUTABA (10:00 AM): Not surprised. Check this out

            SAKURA FUTABA (10:01 AM): https://phansite.net/forum/topic.php?topic=15257

            SAKAMOTO RYUJI (10:02 AM): holy shit is that who I think it is

            TAKAMAKI ANN (10:02 AM): OMG who would post something like this?

            SAKURA FUTABA (10:03 AM): I’m about to take it down, but I don’t know how long it’s been up.

            SAKURA FUTABA (10:03 AM): I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s why everyone’s talking about you, Inari. This is a HUGE invasion of privacy!

 

Yusuke doesn’t bother reading the rest of the conversation. The moment Futaba brought the link into chat, he was already clicking it and out of the conversation.

Yusuke doesn't regularly visit the phan-site. He has once or twice, mostly out of curiosity or when it is truly necessary. He doesn't question where Akira receives their mementos Intel and while he isn’t too terribly versed in the intricacy of forums, Yusuke was still tech-savvy enough to know how to get around a website like the Phantom Aficionado site. And he's also aware, that while Kosei was a prestigious private school, it is still very much like every other high school in existence—filled with drama and starved for gossip. But this? This is the gossip they wanted.

The link directs him to a forum post titled with his name. Curious, he scrolls through the post and realizes, to his utter horror that it’s all about him and his life. Images of his works, of Madarame, Kosei High School, of him with female classmates, litter the forum post. Baseless rumors and senseless words about him fill the page until suddenly, the site disappears.

He returns to the chat, perplexed and angry, and realizes why.

 

            SAKURA FUTABA (10:05 AM): Took it down. Can anyone reach Akira? He’s not answering his phone.

            KITAGAWA YUSUKE (10:06 AM): I plan on visiting Leblanc today.

            SAKURA FUTABA (10:06 AM): You got it, Inari!


	6. First Quarter Moon

Akira busies himself with customers during Leblanc’s opening hours. There aren’t many, as was usual for the store, but it's enough to keep his mind preoccupied. Without the weight of his phone burning a hole in his pocket, Akira can almost pretend he isn’t disturbed by Mishima’s text messages. He can convince himself that the little voice in his head isn’t whispering to him about something he doesn’t want to deal with or that there were other, more pressing matters to attend to, like when they would send Sae’s calling card or the murder investigation against the Phantom Thieves.

Morgana’s silent, but watchful eyes from the stairway makes the hairs on his arms stand. He’s been quiet all morning and didn’t question why Akira chose to leave his cell phone in the attic rather than bring it downstairs. He never asks him why the phone was off or why Akira had been awake at 6 in the morning when he should’ve been sleeping (and sleeping in since it was Saturday). No, Morgana has been nothing but silent and while Akira feels he should be more concerned about it than he actually is, a part of him can't help but feel grateful.

He sighs in contentedness as the last elderly couple leaves the store. It’s just the three of them in the empty café when the bell above the door jingles in greeting again.

“Good morning, welcome to Leblanc—” Akira blinks, suddenly aware of Akechi’s familiar smile.

“Why, good morning Kurusu-kun. What a pleasant surprise.” Akechi places his attaché beside his chair and takes his seat across from Akira. (Sojiro takes that moment to excuse himself from the store, a brief “I’m going to get supplies” barely out of his lips before he’s out the door.) “I presumed you would have left already. It is a wonderful Saturday morning after all.”

“I had an early start,” Akira murmurs. “The usual?”

“You know me so well.”

Akira shuffles around behind the counter as he fixes up Akechi’s coffee. Morgana jumps onto an empty chair further down the bar. Without Sojiro lingering to keep him out of the café—Akira is starting to think Sojiro’s random bouts of “supply shopping” were excuses to get out of having to work—Morgana didn’t have to worry about Sojiro’s deadly side glare when it came to cat hair on the counters.

“Congratulations, by the way,” Akechi says the moment Akira hands him his scorching hot coffee. “On your relationship status with Kitagawa-kun.” He verifies at Akira’s confused stare.

Akira’s eyebrows disappear into his black bangs. “Ah. Thank you?”

“No one told me if that is what you’re concerned with. I simply stumbled upon that discovery myself.”

“Stumbled?”

“At the park yesterday,” The detective chuckles lightly. “Forgive me for being impudent, I did not mean to pry into something so… intimate.”

Heat crawls up the nape of Akira’s neck as realization hits him. The memory replays boldly in Akira’s mind, the ghost of Yusuke’s lips still hovers delicately against his skin. He licks his lips out of reflex and stuffs his hands into his pockets to hide his embarrassment. He hopes his face is as impassive at it feels.

“So you saw… that.”

“More like, I saw what occurred after.” Akechi’s reddish-brown eyes bear into Akira’s. “How terribly awkward that must have been. Tell me, is he a spurned lover?”

Morgana’s inelegant snort shatters the atmosphere between them. Akechi raises an eyebrow.

“Am I wrong?”

“He’s a classmate,” Akira rectifies before Morgana can say a word. “We had a misunderstanding. It was… it was definitely awkward.”

“I see,” He says. He blows the steam from his coffee then drinks. “My apologies for the misunderstanding.”

“How is Niijima-san?” Morgana asks once there’s a lull in the conversation. Akira can see the way the older boy’s eyebrows raise that he wasn’t expecting Morgana’s question, or perhaps had forgotten the feline was with them all along. Morgana’s silent presence is both unnerving and startling and Akira has already forgotten Morgana was with them more than once.

“I’m sorry, I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen Sae-san lately.”

“I see.”

The door to Leblanc opens, signaling the arrival of another customer. Akira turns, his customer service smile already in place when the familiar sight of spiky dark blue hair snatches his practiced words right out of his mouth.

“Mishima!”

Mishima’s pleasant smile throws him off worse than Akechi’s presence does and while there doesn’t seem to be anything alarming about the boy’s presence, Akira can’t help but become uncomfortable.

“Akira, I’m so glad you’re home! We have a lot to talk about, but I can see that you’re busy so I’ll just wait.”

“No need,” Akechi cuts in, finishing the last of his drink. “I was just on my way. Thank you for the delicious coffee, as usual, Kurusu-kun.”

“Y-yes.”

Mishima waits until Akechi is out of the store before speaking. “Wow, you’re really popular lately.”

“Mishima—”

“No, no, no, let me talk,” Mishima says hastily. “I came here because I wanted to apologize to you for my really weird texts last night. I realize I stepped way out of line and I didn’t want you to worry.”

“It’s…okay, Mishima.” It’s not okay. Not by a long shot, but Akira finds it difficult to express his thoughts when Mishima’s eyes are fixated on him. They’re uncomfortably intense and guarded. The only emotion Akira can read is the determination that seems to roll off the shorter boy in waves. Determined for what? Akira isn’t sure.

Suddenly, Mishima is behind the counter with him, his mouth moving and words are spewing but Akira doesn’t understand anything of what he’s saying. Morgana’s perched on the counter now, ears perked high and eyes slitted. He looks ready to jump, though Akira doesn’t understand why.

“You understand where I’m coming from, right?” Mishima asks him jarringly.

Akira blinks. “Huh?”

“I just wanna know the truth.” Mishima presses. He’s too close for comfort. Akira is uncomfortably aware of Mishima caging him against the register counter. “Why Kitagawa-kun? Is it because he’s a Phantom Thief? Tell me, Akira! I _deserve_ to know. As the _director_ of the Phantom Thieves, you _must_ tell me.”

The front bell jingles. Akira’s body reacts before his brain can. One minute, Mishima is pinning him in place, the next, the shorter boy is tripping over himself and dropping coffee beans from the shelf. The loud clatter of glass shattering against the floor and spreading coffee beans everywhere fills the room. Akira’s body moves on autopilot, he’s distantly aware of apologizing to Mishima, who looks dazed from the fall and of Sojiro who is profusely apologizing to the boy on Akira’s behalf.

“Get out of here, I’ll clean this place up!” Sojiro says, not too unkindly. Once Mishima is out of the way and Akira is no longer caged behind the counter, he slips back into reality and realizes, to his horror, that Sojiro isn’t alone.

Futaba and Yusuke watch him from the store’s entrance.

“A-are you okay?” Akira asks.

“I’m fine! I’m fine, sorry. It was my fault. I’ll pay for the coffee!” Mishima offers to Sojiro, but the older man waves it away. He shoos all the teenagers out of his café once he’s sure Mishima isn’t injured and temporarily closes down the shop for cleanup.

Akira is still not wholly connected to reality when Mishima finally excuses himself and leaves.

“Man, that was scary.” Morgana murmurs from Futaba’s arms.

“What happened back there?” Futaba asks them. “I didn’t get to see because Sojiro was in the way.”

“He slipped,” Akira answers far quicker than he means to.

“What was he doing behind the counter?”

Akira can feel all of their eyes on him. Suddenly, he’s not sure what to say. He shrugs instead, his tongue too heavy to move. He turns to Yusuke as though suddenly aware of the taller boy’s presence.

“Yusuke? What are you doing here?”

Yusuke’s frown feels out of place. If Akira didn’t know any better he would have thought Yusuke looked troubled, perhaps even a little irritated. A part of him wonders if Yusuke doesn’t believe him; if he saw more than Futaba did.

“You weren’t answering your phone. I was worried.”

“Yeah!” Futaba cuts in. “None of us could reach you so Yusuke and I decided to check in on you. Besides, there’s a really big pressing matter we need to discuss.”

“Oh, right… I left my phone in the attic.”

“That’s fine, you won’t be able to get in until Sojiro says it's okay.” Futaba grins. “You don’t need it anyway because we need to show you something. Come on!”

Akira doesn’t get the opportunity to question her. She sets off with Morgana in her arms back in the direction of the Sakura household. He spares Yusuke an inquisitive glance before they both trail behind her

* * *

In the Sakura household, Akira and Yusuke cram themselves inside Futaba’s cluttered room. She’s in front of her computer before either of them get the chance to question her and is already pulling up an image by the time Akira slips past Yusuke to get a better look. Morgana cranes his neck from where he sits on Futaba’s bed but struggles to catch sight of the image.

“What is that?” Akira asks the moment he has the screen to himself. “Is that the phansite?”

Plastered in full view on Futaba’s screen is a screenshot image of the Phantom Aficionado website. Akira can’t make out the rest of the thread’s contents, but what he does see—which is an image of Yusuke, his personal information, Madarame, and the Atelier—is enough to make his stomach curdle.

“I found it this morning,” Futaba explains, her brows furrowed as she scans the image solemnly. “I didn’t take it down in time before Inari’s classmates came across it but I ran a check on all of his accounts to make sure no one decided to take advantage of his identity.”

Akira jerks back in shock. He turns to Yusuke for answers.

“Don’t worry, he’s in the clear, but his reputation? Not so much.”

“Yes,” Yusuke sighs wearily. “It would seem I will be the talk of my school for the time being. Although, it would not be the first time.”

“Yusuke—”

A series of jingles and chime split through the tense atmosphere. The sounds are loud and harsh in Akira’s hears and he feels ashamed for having winced. Yusuke doesn’t bother with his phone, as his attention seems solely focused on Akira.

“Are you alright?”

Akira nods. “Just tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

Yusuke’s response is drowned by the loud inhale of Futaba, whose eyes are wide open in shock. She slams her cell phone in haste against the desk and whirls in her chair, her fingers flying in dizzying speeds across her keyboard. Akira watches her screen as the young teen sorts through the live version of the phan-site.

“Holy crap!” She cries, eyes focused on a long list of forum posts with the same name. “This Anon is really persistent! There’s at least 100 posts about Yusuke on here?”

“ _What_?”

Yusuke and Akira huddle close around Futaba in a vain attempt to read the repeated forum posts, but she waves her arms wildly in the air to shoo them away.

“Hey, hey, hey—give me some space to work here! I’m taking them down right now!”

Futaba’s phone rings over and over as incoming messages from the thieves’ group chat bombards her screen, but neither of them pay much attention. Akira’s teeth sink into his bottom lip. An image of Mishima pops unwantedly in his mind’s eye.

“Take the whole site down, Futaba,” Akira suddenly commands. “These posts aren’t going to stop.”

“You got it, Joker!”

Akira turns to Yusuke then, the expression on his face solemn. He doesn’t need to say a word for Yusuke to understand what he wants from him. He merely nods then leads the way out of Futaba’s room. Akira excuses himself from her presence and gives Morgana the same look before heading out after Yusuke.

* * *

Yusuke stays the night at Leblanc with Akira. He’s crammed against the wall on Akira’s makeshift bed, his gray eyes staring aimlessly into the abyss of Leblanc’s perpetually dusty attic. It’s unpleasantly cold that night, but Akira’s warmth beside him is a comfort to his cold limbs, and despite the cramped space of two growing boys sharing such a small bed, Yusuke manages to feel comfortable in spite of it all. And yet, with Akira’s soft breathing a soothing and sweet lullaby against his ear, Yusuke finds that he can’t sleep.

He replays images of the day’s events in his head like an unwanted film reel. From the whispered rumors of his Kosei classmates to the forum posts to the chaos that is dealing with Futaba Sakura, Yusuke feels unsettled. He’s worried about something he’s not sure he should be worried about, but the images of Akira’s stunned expression or the unanswered questions of why Mishima had been so close to Akira in the first place—why was he behind the counter??—keep replaying over and over in his mind.

He inhales softly. His heart races uncomfortably in his chest; the sound of his pulse is deafening in his ears. Without a thought, he buries his fingers into Akira’s soft locks and rakes through them with the tips of his fingers. The barely audible sigh that escapes from Akira’s lips is the only response he gets.

Suddenly, he’s reminded of Akechi’s words earlier that day.

He’d been on his way to Leblanc when he came across the older boy.

_“Oh, Kitagawa-kun, what an unexpected surprise,” Akechi had greeted him, polite smiles and all. “Are you on your way to see Kurusu-kun?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Excellent. He seemed rather perturbed when I left.” At Yusuke’s confused frown, Akechi explained, “One of his classmates stopped by. He seemed rather eager to get Kurusu-kun by himself. I hope it was nothing urgent. After all, we may have plenty of time to send out Sae-san’s calling card but we must not forget to infiltrate her treasure room when the time comes. It would not do any of us well if our leader is in bad shape.”_

Yusuke had agreed then just as he did now, but it was Akechi’s words that unsettled him.

_“He seemed rather eager to get Kurusu-kun by himself.”_

_Rather eager…_

Yusuke’s stomach twists unsettlingly at the thought. The image of Mishima caging Akira behind the register then disappearing in a loud, jarring crash of broken glass and coffee beans brought a bitter taste to his tongue.

He doesn’t realize he’s scowling until Akira’s fingers brush lightly against the corner of his lip. He jumps at the touch, startled, but immediately eases back into calmness when realization his him. He turns his head toward the shorter male and finds Akira’s dark eyes gazing inquisitively up at him. They shine wetly beneath the rays of the moonlight. The way his ebony bangs curl around his eyes, the illumination of his pale skin, how his lips are slightly parted—it takes Yusuke’s breath away.

“My apologies,” he murmurs. “Did I wake you?”

“Not really.”

“You were asleep earlier.”

“It was a light sleep. I can’t really… I have a lot on my mind.” Akira’s gaze penetrates deep into Yusuke’s soul. “What are _you_ thinking about?”

Yusuke’s right hand intertwines with Akira’s left. Their fingers are cold from the autumn night and clammy for reasons Yusuke cannot pinpoint, but they lace together with ease as though it were simply meant to be. He rubs his thumb in small, soothing circles on Akira’s hand.

The hesitation comes as a surprise. Yusuke closes his mouth for a moment, aware of the way Akira watches his lips move before he steels himself and forces the words out of his mouth.

“Mishima,” He licks his lips. “I was thinking about what happened today with Mishima.”

Akira’s reaction surprises Yusuke. The flinch that his body goes through ignites a deep, primal urge within Yusuke. His grip on Akira’s hand grows tighter and it’s a reassurance when Akira returns the hold. Yusuke can see the uncertainty in Akira’s expression and it astounds him. For as long as he’d known him, Yusuke didn’t think of Akira as the type of person who would be _uncertain_ about things. He always acted with a sense of duty and courage, he was kind and inspiring, to see Akira shirking away at the mention of a name; to see the _hesitation_ , the uncertainty; it was jarring.

“What happened today?” He presses.

For the first time since Akira woke up, he breaks eye contact. Yusuke feels a part of himself worry about the implications of such a move, but Akira brings their joined hands together and presses a tender kiss against Yusuke’s knuckles.

“I don’t really know,” He murmurs, his lips brushing on Yusuke’s skin. They’re soft like velvet. “But I’m not going to let it happen again.”

The resolve in which he says it makes Yusuke feel like things are clicking back into place. His smile is gentle and pleasant as genuine happiness bubbles in his chest.

“No, I suppose you won’t,” He says, contentedly. “We should get some sleep.” Yusuke buries his nose into Akira’s hair and feels his troubles recede. They’re not gone, not completely, but they don’t seem so pressing anymore. Distantly, Akechi’s words and Mishima’s behavior settle uneasily in the back of his mind but they fall silent the more he nestles himself into Akira’s scent.


	7. Wolf Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Chizuny ([DeviantArt](https://www.deviantart.com/chizuny) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/BeWmOnNy?lang=en)) for making the art in this chapter and capturing the feeling I was looking for!!

Come Monday morning, Akira wakes up with only one mission in mind – confronting Mishima Yuuki. After their disastrous encounter that previous Friday, the incident in Leblanc, and the Phansite’s resurgent posts about Yusuke, Akira realizes he can no longer sit back and do nothing. Something is seriously wrong with Mishima and he needs to find out what.

In the deep, dark reaches of his mind, a voice whispers for him to check the Meta-nav. But as quickly as the thoughts form in his head, he shoves them aside. He doesn't need to do that. Not yet. Mishima can still be reasoned with. They're just having a misunderstanding. That’s all it is. A misunderstanding.

“Akira!” Morgana’s voice jars him out of his thoughts. He’s rooted back into reality, surrounded uncomfortably by nameless strangers as the world flies past them in blurs of colors and sounds. Akira stares into his lap and comes face to face with the wide, curious eyes of Morgana.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Sure about what?”

Morgana’s ears flatten in annoyance. “Did you forget already?” He whispers despite knowing no one on the train would understand him. “You said we were confronting Mishima today, remember? About the Yusuke posts.”

“Right,” Akira’s grip on his school bag tightens. “I’m sure.”

Morgana’s ever watchful eyes scan him for a moment. The moment feels far longer than it actually was and Akira isn’t sure if Morgana believes in him, but the feline doesn’t press the issue. He dips back into the school bag once the train pulls to a stop and doesn’t say a word for the rest of the ride.

* * *

Mishima is surprisingly difficult to find when the boy doesn’t want to be found. Despite his excessive and unpleasant text messages throughout the weekend, the moment Akira decides to confront him, he’s impossible to find. When the lunch bell rings, Mishima is out the door before Akira can even process what's happening and while it isn’t particularly difficult to pull away from Ann and the others during lunch, Akira finds his patience wearing thin.

He turns the corner blindly, already in the motions of whipping out his phone and texting Mishima when hushed arguing catches his attention. In the farther end of the hall stands two familiar faces. Akira scrambles back around the corner the moment he realizes who they are and nearly smashes his school bag—as well as Morgana—against the wall. He ignores the cat’s aggravated grumbling and carefully peeks around the corner.

Mishima stands with his back towards the hall, his sole attention focused entirely on Makoto, who seems both weary and frustrated as she shakes her head almost violently.

Akira strains his ears in an attempt to piece together the conversation.

“I’m sorry, Mishima-kun,” Makoto says, she sounds exasperated with strained politeness, “but my sister’s cases are her private affairs. I cannot give you any pertinent information regarding the investigation.”

“But you’re her _sister_ ,” Mishima stresses, “If anyone knows what’s going on, it’s gotta be you. You’re the closest person to her.”

Akira can’t read Makoto’s face from his position, but he notices the way her shoulders stiffen under Mishima’s declaration.

“I’m sorry, but I cannot help you.” Makoto’s tone is final. Her posture is ridged and her hands are fisted, whether in frustration or anger, Akira isn’t sure. He watches as she tries to end the conversation by excusing herself from Mishima’s presence but the younger boy grabs her arm as she passes.

 “Niijima-san,” Mishima practically hisses, his tone uncharacteristically harsh and cold. Both Makoto and Akira freeze in place, their hearts hammering against their chests. A chill runs up Akira’s spine as he watches. “The Phantom Thieves are _just_. They would never kill to get their message across. If your sister can’t see that they’re being framed then maybe _she_ should have her heart changed.”

“M-Mishima-kun, you’re hurting me.”

Mishima releases her, but his eyes remain steadily on her like a predator watching prey.

“If your sister can’t see reason then she’s just as corrupt as everyone else. She’ll be next on their list, Niijima-san. I’ll make sure of it.”

Makoto doesn’t say a word. She turns on her heels and rushes out of the hallway. She runs past Akira, blind to his presence as she hurries down the stairs and out of sight. Akira watches her go, torn between wanting to follow her and confronting Mishima. But instead, he remains rooted in place as a heavy exhale escapes his lips. Morgana is silent throughout the whole exchange, the expression on his face is hard to read. He vanishes into the darkness of Akira’s bag as students pass them by. Neither of them says a word.

Akira steels himself for what’s to come. He shoves his fists into his pockets, quietly promising to check up on Makoto once he’s done then steps out into the hallway. He nearly slams into Mishima.

“Akira!” the other boy chirps delightedly. Its jarring how quickly Mishima’s foul mood turns bright the moment he lays eyes on Akira. “I was just thinking about you! Wanna grab lunch? We still have a few minutes left.”

“Mishima, we need to talk.”

“I’m glad you agree!” Mishima’s smile is bright and warm; he’s the happiest Akira has ever seen him since… he’s not even sure. “You can talk to me about anything. You know that.”

“I saw the forum posts about Yusuke.”

And just like that, Akira is uncomfortably aware of when Mishima’s smile shifts. It’s not as bright; not as warm, but he continues to smile as though doing anything else was unacceptable.

“Oh, you did? Don’t worry, I’ve been monitoring the website and deleting them whenever they pop up. I don’t know what he did to make anyone that angry but leaking private information like that has to be illegal, right?”

Akira’s nails bite crescents into his palms. “Mishima, don’t lie to me. I know it was you.”

His smile is gone in a flash. Akira half expects him to frown to play the fool and deny his wrongdoing, but Mishima does none of those things. He simply stares at Akira, expressionless.

Emotionless.

It scares him more than anything else.

“He’s not good for you, Akira,” Mishima says instead. “You deserve someone who understands you, someone who can help you when you need it and care for you. Not… not _him_. He can’t do that for you, don’t you see that?” Suddenly, Mishima’s hands are on Akira’s arms, holding him close and squeezing him hard. He too close for comfort; his dark wide eyes gaze up at him with something akin to desperation. Akira tries to pull back but Mishima merely follows.

They’re drawing attention from the passing students. Akira doesn’t dare take his eyes off of Mishima. He shoves down the fear that’s gnawing in his stomach and steadies his resolve.

“But I’m… I-I know I’m not much, but I can be _someone_ to _you_ , Akira—”

“Be someone to me? Or _use_ me?”

Mishima jerks backward, stunned. “I would _never!_ ” He practically shrieks. The students around them freeze in place, all eyes now on them.

Akira can feel Morgana’s restless shuffling in his bag.

“Your _boyfriend_ is the one using you! Don’t you see that?!” Mishima grips his school jacket in a desperate attempt to get his point across. “ _I’m_ the one who can help you not _him!_ ”

“Mishima,” Akira’s heart wrenches in his chest. Guilt and anxiety gnaw at his core. He can feel Mishima’s body shaking as he holds onto him. “This isn’t like you.” He murmurs quietly. “What… happened to you?”

Mishima’s eyes are back on him and this time, Akira is thrown off by the emotion in them.

“You happened,” He says then crashes their lips together.

Akira’s mind blanks in panic. An incessant buzzing fills his ears and it takes far more effort than necessary for Akira to realize they’re being ogled at by Shujin students. Their loud, horrified gasps snap him back to reality but by then it’s already too late. Mishima was gone.


	8. Waxing Gibbus

An impending sense of terror and guilt haunts him for the rest of the day. Akira finds he can’t focus on his remaining subjects and when his eyes travel toward Mishima’s desk, it’s empty of the boy. Mishima’s disappearance is not lost on him and the constant, hushed whispers that surround him in-between class time lets him know that Mishima went home early for “unknown” reasons.

Ann’s eyes are on him before the final bell rings. In his pocket, Akira’s cell phone buzzes wildly. Rumors in Shujin travels fast and while the incident between him and Mishima had only occurred barely three hours ago, Akira is sure by the nearly hostile glare Ann is giving him that everyone in the entire campus knows.

Her gaze is piercing. The guilt twists in his chest.

“I don’t know what you heard, but I can explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain,” Ann cuts in, though her tone is softer than Akira expected it to be. “From what it sounds like, Mishima cornered you and kissed you.”

“It’s more than that, Lady Ann,” Morgana whispers from his place inside Akira’s desk. Ann takes the moment to block his desk from view of the other students. Morgana quickly slinks out of the desk and into Akira’s bag just as Ryuji storms into the nearly empty classroom.

“What the Hell is going on?!” He demands, louder than necessary. Akira barely has enough time to slide his bag over his shoulder before Ryuji is in his face. “I thought you were dating Yusuke? What’s this about you and Mishima lip locking in the middle of the hallway?”

“Ryuji!” Ann hisses, slipping a hand against his chest and gently pushing him away from Akira’s personal bubble. “We can talk about this when we’re back in Leblanc. Right, Akira?”

Akira swallows thickly.

* * *

Throughout the train ride over, Akira battles with himself. His mind replays the near manic desperation in Mishima’s eyes over and over again. He can still feel the other boy’s lips on his own, so startlingly different from Yusuke’s but still shockingly similar. The guilt that’s been twisting his insides spears through him at the memory. He clutches his chest.

By the time they reach Leblanc, he can sense Ann and Ryuji reaching their limits.

“Alright, spill!”

“What the hell happened man?”

“I’m sorry,” Haru cuts in, her brows furrowed in confusion. “Has something happened? My classmates were particularly rowdy today.”

“Oh yeah, something definitely happened alright.” Ryuji’s eyes zero in on his best friend. “And Akira was just about to explain it.”

Akira eyes the small group. Futaba and Yusuke were the only two not present in their emergency meeting and while he’s sure Futaba would be joining them shortly, Akira isn’t sure he’s ready to face Yusuke. The thought of Yusuke’s small, sweet smile lighting up the entire attic pangs his heart.

_It’s not my fault._ The voice in his head says. _Mishima wasn’t himself. He didn’t know what he was doing. I couldn’t read him._

_I won’t let it happen again._

He takes a deep breath and steels himself for the worst.

“Mishima kissed me.”

The surprise that crosses Haru’s and Makoto’s faces is expected. The lack of reaction he gets from Ann and Ryuji is something he also expects.

“C-come again?”

“He kissed me.” Akira restates. The fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Makoto’s piercing gaze causes unease to crawl up his spine. “He hasn’t been acting like himself lately ever since… my date with Yusuke.”

“How so?” Makoto asks.

Akira twirls a strand of dark hair around his fingers. “He sends me texts late at night asking about… us. Yusuke and myself, I mean. Then the posts about Yusuke on the phansite. He’s been…” He trails off, unsure of how to phrase it.

A look of realization passes through Makoto’s eyes. “Yes, I understand what you mean.”

“Huh?” Ryuji blinks.

“Mishima and I had a… disagreement earlier today as well. Perhaps even before you encountered him. He’d been, well, concerned about my sister’s involvement with the Okumura case.” Makoto dusts off her skirt despite the lack of dirt. “He’s also been in contact with me.”

“Oh, Makoto. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t deem it necessary.” She shrugs. “To me, it was harmless questions even if they were a bit peculiar.”

“So… what? Is he jealous or something?” Ryuji asks. “I know he’s a big fan of us but I didn’t think it was _that_ serious, you know?”

“It’s more pressing than that, Ryuji.” Morgana cuts in. “I suspect he may be in some _serious_ trouble.”

“We’re here!” Futaba sings, disrupting the heavy tension Akira hadn’t realized was building. “Wow, is it gloomy up here or what? What did we miss?”

“Mishima business,” Ryuji says, his attention bouncing between Yusuke and Akira. “Maaaaan, this is going to get awkward real fast, isn’t it?”

Ann doesn’t hide her grimace. For once, Akira feels like strangling both of them. He can feel Yusuke’s inquisitive gaze land on him. The ghostly memory of Mishima’s lips on his flashes through his mind. Akira visibly flinches.

“Akira?”

“Is anyone gonna fill us in?”

Ryuji and Ann glance Akira’s way, but it's Morgana who comes to his rescue.

“We need to find Mishima’s shadow in Mementos.”

Yusuke frowns. “Has something happened?”

“Oooh yeah— _ow!_ ” Ryuji sends a heated glare Ann’s way.

“You’re _not_ helping,” She hisses.

“This is something we should have looked into ages ago,” Morgana continues, ignoring the duo. “I have a hunch, but we need to go in there before I can confirm it.”

Makoto breaks away from the group with a resolute nod. “Yes. Yusuke, Akira, we’ll meet you two at the station when you’re both ready. Something tells me you have much to discuss. Everyone else, let’s go.”

Akira watches them leave until it’s only him and Yusuke left in the attic. Distantly, they can both hear the jingle of Leblanc’s bell ring and Sojiro’s farewells before the rest of café falls silent again. Yusuke joins him on the couch, gray eyes inquisitive.

“Please speak to me. What happened?”

Akira’s gut twists. The mantra of _“it’s not his fault”_ plays on repeat in his head. Yusuke’s hand slips into his own. He grips it tightly and releases a shuddering sigh.

“Mishima kissed me during lunch.” He can feel Yusuke stiffen in his hold, but the other boy doesn’t say a word. “But it’s not a real kiss. He isn’t himself. Morgana and I… suspect he may have a palace.”

The tension Akira feels in Yusuke’s hand lessens, but not by much. Akira chances a glance his way and finds his boyfriend’s brows scrunched together. Yusuke’s fingers grip him tightly.

“I see,” he murmurs. “A palace…? How… discomforting.” He chuckles morosely. “I suspected something was off that day when he destroyed Boss’s supply of coffee beans. I merely assumed my eyes were playing tricks on me, but at that moment, it most certainly seemed he desired to kiss you.”

“Yusuke—”

“Akira, forgive me for my selfishness, but I am rather vexed.”

Akira’s grip on Yusuke grows tight. A sliver of panic courses through his veins as Yusuke stares into him. Despite his words, there is no anger in his eyes. He reaches out and lays a gentle hand against Akira’s cheek. He caresses him softly, lovingly, before Yusuke’s lips are on Akira’s. Happiness and warmth explodes in Akira’s chest. It spreads across his limbs, leaving him tingly and hot as Yusuke’s mouth molds against his own. It’s so unlike Mishima’s unexpected kiss, Akira can’t even believe he had compared the two in the first place. He’s not sure how long their kiss lasts—a minute? An hour? It certainly felt like an eternity—but when Yusuke pulls away, Akira can’t keep himself from chasing after those kiss-swollen lips. Yusuke’s deep chuckle feels like it courses through him, vibrating his veins. Akira doesn’t realize his hands are in Yusuke’s hair until they’re being disentangled.

He kisses Akira’s knuckles.

“We must leave. The others are waiting for us.”

“I’m sorry,” The words tumble from his lips before he can process what he’s saying. “For not telling you about what happened in the café. I just thought… I should’ve been honest. He doesn’t mean it, Yusuke.”

“No, Akira. He means every action towards you.”

A heavy weight sinks into the pit of Akira’s stomach. Yusuke’s fingers intertwine with his own and without much urging, they leave the café behind and head for the station.

* * *

Mementos ripples to life around them as the metaverse navigator announces their arrival. Akira can physically feel his anxiety and dread melt away with his civilian clothes the moment his mask falls into place. The breath he releases is long and shuddering, as though he were removing every negative thought and emotion which were formerly coiled tightly within him in one single exhale. In the metaverse, he was no longer Akira Kurusu, the kid who was falsely accused of a crime he did not commit. He wasn’t just some sixteen-year-old delinquent on probation running amok with his friends; he was Joker, the leader of the Phantom Thieves of Hearts. There was no time for anxiety or guilt; there was no time for him to ruminate over the what if’s and the should have’s. Right now, only one thing mattered and it was their mission at hand: finding Mishima’s shadow.

Once Mementos finally fell into place, Joker’s eyes are on his fellow thieves. He scans them quickly for a moment, each one of them adjusting to the new reality that is Mementos before realization dawns on him.

He turns to Queen and asks, “Where is Akechi?”

“Ah, yes, unfortunately, he won’t be able to join us for this impromptu mission. But I told him we would keep him informed if need be.”

Skull scoffs somewhere to Joker’s left and mutters something that gets lost among Panther and Mona’s chatter.

“If anything, you may see him later, Joker.” Queen continues. “I told him you could explain the situation better than I could.”

The thought of having to explain to Akechi about Mishima made Akira feel uneasy. He doesn’t like the idea of dragging Akechi into a mess that doesn't involve him, especially not when Sae’s deadline is looming over him like a noose. Yet, he knows there's no choice in the matter. Excluding Akechi from this will raise too much suspicion. He's a Phantom Thief like the rest of them, he's already involved.

Joker nods in understanding, his jaw clenched tightly from the tension. “Oracle, can you find Mishima’s shadow?”

“Searching~!” She sings, her fingers already flying across the air. “Just give me a sec. This place is huge, you know?”

“It shouldn’t be _that_ difficult to find. We found him last time.”

“Yes, but that was a month ago,” Mona mutters solemnly. “He was much more manageable then. If our suspicions are correct, Oracle may not be able to find him at all.”

“You really think he could’ve changed _that_ much that fast?” Skull frowns.

“Anything is possible when it comes to the heart, Skull.”

The silence that falls between them is uncomfortable. Fox remains quiet throughout the whole exchange, though he lingers the closest to Joker than the others do. Five minutes into their silence, Joker turns his attention to Oracle. Her scans are running wildly, her fingers a blur in his eyes. There are beads of sweat dotting her brow as she screws up her face in concentration.

“Anything?” Mona asks.

She shushes the feline and mutters something that’s intelligible among the beeping sounds of Necronomicon. Five minutes stretch into ten. The dread Joker had discarded earlier slowly creeps back.

“Well?” It’s Fox who asks, the first word he’s spoken since they entered.

Oracle says nothing then suddenly, she screeches in frustration. She throws her hands into the air defeat, the virtual screens that surrounded her person vanish in a blink.

“He’s not here.” She moans. “I can’t find him. His shadow has no signature _anywhere_ in this place, not even the areas we haven’t been able to access yet. It’s like it doesn’t exist in Mementos anymore.”

“No,” Mona mutters. “It wouldn’t, would it? This confirms it. Mishima has a palace.” He turns to the thieves with an expression of severe gravity. “We’ve neglected this for far too long. We’ll have to find his palace and steal his treasure.”

The Thieves’ shock and awe reverberates across the empty train tracks. Queen’s voice is surprisingly the loudest. She tears herself away from the lineup and lifts the mask from her eyes. Her exhaustion is evident, the lines under her eyes more prominent than Joker has ever seen them.

“I understand the situation is not ideal, but we cannot forget that my sister’s palace is still festering. We haven’t stolen her treasure yet.”

(Ryuji’s loud exclaims of “Are you kidding me?! Another palace??” fall on deaf ears.)

“Niijima-san’s treasure route is secure. If we can manage to infiltrate Mishima’s palace and secure _his_ treasure route within a day, we should still be on schedule.”

“We don’t even know what his keywords are, though.” Panther cuts in.

“We’ll figure it out. For now, let’s regroup. We’ll need Akechi for this if we plan on infiltrating his palace by tonight.”

“Wait, tonight?”

“Are you sure?”

“Joker,” Mona calls. All eyes fall on him. “It’s your call. We can find his palace today or wait.”

Joker can feel Fox’s looming presence beside him. He’s close enough that the fabric of their thieving outfits brush lightly; he can feel his lover’s warmth radiate through his leather sleeves. It fills him with comfort and eases the tension that crept into his muscles.

“Tonight,” he says after a moment of thought. “If we can find it today, we’ll infiltrate tonight. We cannot waste any more time.”

The thieves chime in their agreement. Fox’s hand slips into Joker’s. Their hands clench together tightly.


	9. Full Moon

Mishima Yuuki’s name in the Meta-Nav is surreal. The more Akira stares at it, the harder it becomes for him to comprehend. The name blurs before Akira’s eyes as images from the previous week flash in his mind. The steady erraticness of Mishima’s behavior becomes more apparent the longer he thinks. Something pierces his stomach, souring his mood.

It’s not his fault. He knows this and yet a part of him can’t stop blaming himself for being ignorant to Mishima’s plight. He should’ve stopped the encouragements the moment Mishima’s Mementos requests became more and more selfish. He should’ve taken the boy seriously during those late night, uncomfortable texts. But Akira chose to ignore it and even encouraged Mishima in one way or another. Now, he's a victim to his own distortions; his heart so warped that a palace manifested.

Akira’s knuckles turn white as his grip tightens. The phone in his hand shakes from the tension, yet the Meta-Nav continues to blare brightly up at him, ignorant of his thoughts and feelings. A pale, calloused hand falls on top of his own, stilling his phone.

“Enough,” Yusuke whispers. “Regain control.”

Akira breathes in slowly. Then out. His fingers loosen enough for Yusuke to intertwine their hands together, gently lacing their fingers.

The café bell jingles despite the late hour. All eyes turn toward the door. Akechi greets them pleasantly, still dressed in his detective uniform with his attaché hanging lightly in his hand. He finds a stool closest to the door and sits. The rest of the Phantom Thieves are scattered around the café with miscellaneous snacks and drinks littering the booth tables and countertops. Akira holes himself closest to the coffee machines, ready to fix a quick drink in case he needs to while Yusuke sits on the chair across from him, his half-empty drink already forgotten in front of him.

Ryuji and Futaba have a booth to themselves on either side of Ann, Makoto and Haru’s booth. While Futaba distracts herself with video games on a handheld, Ryuji’s booth is covered in chip bags and drinks he’d brought over for the meeting. Despite the urgency of their meeting, the atmosphere is lax and quiet. The only sounds that fill the room come from Futaba’s video game and button mashing. Akechi’s presence doesn’t do much to break the silent lull of activity, but it does snap Makoto out of her sullen silence.

Ryuji reaches across the table for a bag of chips. He tears it open then throws a handful into his mouth with a loud, satisfying crunch. Akira envies his ability to eat.

“I’ve been told there’s a plan to infiltrate a new palace tonight, is that correct?” Akechi asks once Ryuji’s crunching subsides. The chorus of distracted “mhms” and “yeps” greets him. “I see. Considering we’ve yet to fully complete Sae-san’s palace, do you think it’s wise we distract ourselves with another?”

“We have no choice,” Akira says, a bit more harshly than he means to. Akechi raises a curious eyebrow, though there’s a sense of intrigue that he doesn’t hide in his expression. Akira chooses to ignore it. “We should be able to complete this palace before the deadline.”

“Alright,” Akechi sighs. “Since you feel so strongly about it.” Suddenly, his attention turns to Makoto. “Is that alright with you, Niijima-san?”

“Yes. I will trust in Akira’s decision.”

“Then, by all means, what have we gotten so far?”

“Full name only,” Futaba mutters, her eyes focused solely on the handheld in front of her. “We still need a location and the form the palace takes.”

“Any ideas?”

“I’ve got nothing,” Ryuji says. He downs the dusty remnants of his potato chips and reaches for a water bottle. “I have no idea what Mishima thinks half the time.”

“What about ‘Shujin Academy’?”

The Meta-Nav’s smooth, feminine voice fills the air: _no candidates found._

Ann sighs. “It was worth a shot.”

“Nice try, Ann.” Haru chuckles.

“Yeah, I don’t think Mishima would choose the school as a palace, to be honest,” Ryuji says. He grabs another bag of chips and opens it. “He’s kinda geeky so maybe a manga shop or something.”

“He’s a big fan of the Phantom Thieves, correct?” Haru asks after the navigator debunks the manga shop. “Perhaps something related to us?”

“Like what? We’re just a bunch of misfit kids changing hearts.”

“How about…” Morgana flicks his tail thoughtfully “A secret base?”

_No candidates found._

Ryuji snorts in amusement. “I know we’re cool and all, but we’re not _that_ cool. We’re thieves, not spies. It’s not like we have a spy headquarters or anything.”

_Candidate found._

All eyes are on Akira’s phone before the Navigator can finish speaking. Futaba, Ryuji, and Ann cram around Yusuke’s shoulders in an attempt to read the navigator.

“Man, do I know Mishima or _what_?” Ryuji laughs.

“Nice job, Ryuji,” Ann giggles.

Akechi chuckles quietly. “A spy headquarters, huh? How childish.”

“Now that we have the “what”, we just need to find the “where”,” Morgana says the moment the others disburse from the Yusuke’s location. “What are some places Mishima visits often?”

“No idea,” Ryuji shrugs.

“Weren’t you just praising that you knew everything about him?”

“I know the guy, doesn’t mean I know _everything_ about him.”

“Akira, do you have any guess?” Makoto asks. Akira shakes his head.

He sets the phone down with a heavy sigh and stretches the kinks out of his shoulders with a satisfying pop. Yusuke’s eyes remain transfixed on the phone. Akira can sense the intent without having to see it. He watches his boyfriend curiously. (From the corner of his eyes, Akira catches Akechi’s piqued interest as the older boy watches them both.)

Yusuke’s expression is unreadable and a sense of unease bubbles in the pit of Akira’s stomach. Before he can open his mouth, Yusuke chuckles. It lacks all mirth.

“Yes, but of course,” He says to no one. “The keyword is LeBlanc.”

_Candidate found. Beginning navigation._

“Wait, what?!”

“We found it?!”

The excited chorus of noises curtsey of Futaba, Ryuji, and Ann is drowned out by the warping of reality as it bubbles and ripples. The familiar space of the cafe melts away into darkness until another scene shimmers into place. Gone away are the booths of LeBlanc or the hanging lights; the smell of coffee beans and curry is replaced by the artificial scent of cleaners and freshly washed carpeting. The walls that surround them is bare and dull, but immaculate. It’s a small room, enough to fit their sizeable group but not enough to maneuver comfortably. Had the room any more objects, Akira suspects they would be far more uncomfortable than they actually were.

“I guess we’re inside,” Mona comments needlessly. He turns his attention towards Akira, mouth already poised in question when he stops short. Akira senses the eyes of his peers on him.

“Well now, this is an unforeseen predicament,” Crow says. “It would seem your friend doesn’t view you as a threat, Joker.”

Akira frowns in confusion. He peers down at his clothes and realizes, much to his dismay, that Crow is right. Despite the rest of the Phantom Thieves wearing their thieving gear, Akira is the only one still dressed in his school uniform.

Skull sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Ain’t that a shock,” he quips. “What with the way he’s been acting lately, I feel like we should’ve seen that coming.”

“This won’t be good for us,” Queen mutters quietly, though Akira isn’t sure if he was meant to hear it. “He is far worse than we thought.”

“Then it’s good that we’re here,” Noir states with a smile. Her eyes are ablaze with determination. “Let’s find Mishima-kun’s treasure and change his heart for the better.”

“It’ll be a problem without Joker’s abilities,” Mona sighs. “Maybe it’s best we secure an exit route first. That way, tomorrow we can change Mishima’s cognition of Akira and properly explore the palace—”

“That might take too long,” Akira grimaces. “I don’t know how Mishima views me right now, but trying to change his perception of me might take too much time. We’re here already. We need to do what we can.”

Yusuke’s click of the tongue startles Akira. He turns to the taller boy, bewildered by the thinly veiled irritation that lines his mouth.

“And how far do you expect us to go without your assistance, Akira? This is foolish. We should secure an exit route and return once your abilities have been regained.”

“That would make this infiltration smoother,” Crow agrees smoothly. “as it stands currently, your presence would be far too distracting. We still have two weeks before the investigation takes place. Leaving now and returning tomorrow would be a wise decision.”

A chorus of agreements sounds throughout the room. Akira clenches his fists in frustration. He was outnumbered by the concerns of his friends and while he absolutely agreed with their logic, a part of him couldn’t help but feel bitter. Didn’t they understand his urgency?

He releases a heavy, defeated sigh. “Alright. We’ll secure an exit route for now.”

“Excellent,” Crow smiles amicably. He steps out of alignment and approaches the wooden door Akira stands in front of. “Until Mishima-kun sees you as a threat, we’ll have to watch your back. I’ll take point. Unless, of course, anyone opposes?” His eyes sweep across the crowded group of teens, but no one says a word. “Very well. Fox, Skull stay close to Akira. Without the proper layout of the Palace, we can’t know for sure what we’re up against.”

As the rest of them change position, Crow peeks into the hallway. Akira gets wedged in between Fox and Skull, with Oracle behind him and Queen taking point. Crow signals for them to move and one by one, the group filters out into the hallway.

The hall is deathly silent; it’s cold and barren with only a narrow, red carpet adorning the ground. There are no windows leading to the outside and every door is spread so far apart, Akira wonders how big the palace truly is. At the end of the corridor, Crow stops. They gather behind him and press themselves against the wall.

“What is it?” Queen whispers. “Shadows?”

Crow shakes his head. He gestures toward the ceiling and there, much to their dismay, is a camera zeroed in on their location.

“Shit, we’re being watched?”

“It would appear that way.”

“Then where are the shadows?” Mona’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “We’ve been walking down this hallway for more than five minutes, he should have sent back up.”

“Oracle,” Fox whispers. “Do you have any readings?”

The girl shakes her head. “None. I don’t have a proper map of the area, but there aren’t any signatures. It’s almost like the whole floor is barren. Well, at least in the radius we’re in.”

“Let’s keep moving.”

Twenty minutes into their exploration and not one shadow appears to stop them. It’s almost as though Oracle’s assumptions were correct, the entire floor was empty of shadows. But why?

“Is it just me or does it seem weird that we haven’t crossed an enemy yet?” Skull asks after another five minutes of no encounters. “We should’ve run into something by _now_ right?”

“It is highly suspicious.” Mona agrees. “Keep your senses on high alert, everyone.”

“Maybe Mishima doesn’t want to fight?” Panther suggests. Crow turns a corner and makes a beeline for a staircase. “That’s possible, right? He’s our friend. Maybe his palace would be different since he’s a fan of the Phantom Thieves.”

“Is that possible?” Noir glances toward Mona inquisitively, but the feline shrugs.

 “If he is a fan as you say he is then his palace may very well be his shadow’s fun house,” Crow says. “A palace to test the abilities of the Phantom Thieves he _adores_ so lovingly.”

“Mishima isn’t like that!” Akira snaps.

Crow freezes in place on a lower landing. His wide eyes gaze up toward Akira. Akira tenses under his intense gaze, he feels the curious looks from the others; embarrassment crawls up the nape of his neck.

“Sorry,” He mutters. “But he’s not… like that.” He breaks away from the protective formation of his friends and continues down the flight of stairs. “Whatever Mishima’s shadow has planned, we’ll stop it and save him.”

“My apologies,” Crow says, joining Akira’s descent. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

(Yusuke lags further behind the group, his body tense and his brows furrowed.)

They reach the end of the stairs and step into another empty hall. Another quick scan from Oracle tells Akira all he needs to know—there’s nothing ahead of them except for open space. He takes point, wary of the cameras that continue to follow their movements and conscious of the eyes that pierce his backside. Crow hovers close but keeps his distance. He’s in line with Akira, eyes facing forward and yet, somehow, Akira gets a sense that Crow is paying more attention to him than to the palace in front of them.

The hallway cuts out ahead of them to reveal an open lobby space. It’s spacious and grand; it’s the most beautiful room they’ve seen so far with marble walls and flooring and large, crystal chandeliers hanging above. The red carpet splits out into a T-shape in the center of the room. On the wall behind a large mahogany work desk is an insignia etched deep into the marble walls. Akira can’t keep the awe from his face but Skull’s and Oracle’s surprise echoes across the lobby.

They step further into the hall and suddenly, they’re no longer alone.

Blocking their path is a horde of shadows. Thirty to forty faceless men and women dressed in black suits and ties crowd in front of the exit, each one stock still and ready. And from the mass of unknown shadows stands one, familiar figure. She’s tall and slender, dressed in the most revealing black leather outfit Akira has ever seen. A sharp _crack_ from her thorny whip shatters the air. It’s loud and unpleasant and sends dread down Akira’s spine. Panther’s horrified gasp sounds from somewhere behind him and honestly, he can’t blame her for it.

Standing before them is not Shadow Mishima, but Panther, or at least, a cognitive version of her. She brushes ashy blonde hair over her shoulder, her icy yellow eyes practically glowing beneath the lobby lighting.

“Welcome to the director’s headquarters,” She giggles. “We would have greeted you sooner, but we weren’t expecting you all to drop in so quickly.” Her eyes grow half-lidded as they fall directly on Akira. “My name is Arachnia and I’ve been so excited to see you.” The way her eyes rake up and down Akira’s frame sends chills down his spine. Her penetrating, eerie gaze finally breaks from him as she takes a good look at the group surrounding him.

Fox and Skull pull him back discreetly, their bodies slowly shieling him from the full brunt of the horde of shadows. Crow and Queen take point, their muscles tense and at the ready. From Akira’s position, he can see the way Arachnia takes in their positioning; how she eyes each of their weapons then licks blood red lips. She moans seductively, cracking her whip.

“Oh, how wonderful! This is going to be so much fun,” She giggles breathily. “It’s been so _boring_ lately. I was starting to get antsy, you know? As long as we secure our targets, I don’t think the director will mind if I play with the rest of you.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Skull grimaces.

“You’re not going to like what’s coming next.” Oracle agrees. “I think we should run.”

“Let’s play a little game, okay?” Arachnia smiles, sickeningly sweet. “How long can you all survive the horde?” Before any of them can react, Arachnia’s whip snaps through the air. The shadows explode into motion of black limbs and white faces. Their distinguishing figures morph into an amalgamation of blacks and whites until they were no longer individual shadows but a massive wave of darkness, screeching and laughing for the phantom thieves.  With barely any time to scream, the teens scramble out of the lobby. They rush down the hall and back up the flight of stairs until they were on the next floor again. Crow ripped open the first door within their vicinity and slipped inside. 

“Did we just corner ourselves?!” Panther shrieks, desperately eyeing all four walls of the room.

“Look up there,” Fox points toward a ventilation shaft. “Perhaps it can lead us toward another exit?”

“One way to find out. Help me up?” Akira asks.

* * *

Akira isn’t sure for how long they crawled. The ventilation system coiled around the building like a silvery snake. It dipped in odd places and circled around others. He supposed he couldn’t complain, whenever a ray of light shined from the grids below, Akira could see the hordes of Arachnia’s henchmen searching for them. Without the cameras keeping an eye on their movements, the Phantom Thieves were safe from shadow opposition. But the longer they crawled, the louder their complaints became.

Eventually, they reached the end of the line. With a forceful kick, Akira dislodges the gridded gate and watches it crash with a loud _clatter_ into an empty alleyway below.

“It’s a bit of a drop,” he says with a grimace. “Careful.”

Akira adjusts his positioning. He lets his legs dangle out into the open and then drops. The fall is quick and unpleasant, Akira feels his heart crawl into his throat but he lands, albeit somewhat painfully, on his feet. His ankles absorb most of the impact and he winces from the pain. He hurries out of the way before Futaba slips out of the vent.

One by one, they drop into the dark alley. The alleyway is bare; it’s narrow from the presence of two looming buildings but other than that, there’s nothing. No dumpster, no bikes, no graffiti on the walls. Only emptiness.

“Well, that was fun!” Oracle says, a wide smile on her face. “So it looks like Nishima sees Panther as a dominatrix.”

“I can’t believe that little punk!” Panther cries. Her voice carries across the alleyway. “Is that really how he sees me? What’s with guys wanting to see me in skimpy clothing?”

“Can you blame them?” Skull sighs. At Panther’s pointed glare he throws his hands up in the air. “What?! It’s a compliment!”

Akira pulls away from the group, deaf to the bickering now taking place behind him. He wanders out into the empty streets. The alleyway looks exactly like LeBlanc but instead of where the café should be, there is only a large, towering office building that looms over the town. It’s disorienting, seeing such a tall building in such a small area. The way the block warps around it to accommodate it is surreal. And yet, at the very top, Akira can make out the familiar rooftop of LeBlanc. Crow, Queen, and Fox join him in the street.

“That’s peculiar,” Crow muses, eyeing the roof. “Is it safe to presume Mishima-kun hasn’t been to your room?”

Akira shakes his head. “No. He usually only stays in the café.”

“He doesn’t have a cognition of what the attic in LeBlanc looks like,” Queen says. “I wonder if… we can use that to our advantage.”

Akira tears his gaze from the building. He glances Yusuke’s way for a moment, concern pooling into his veins. Once they were back in the real LeBlanc, they needed to talk. For real this time. Akira was not blind to Yusuke’s unusual silence or the tension clearly etched in his muscles. Something was bothering him.

“We’ll need to regroup.” Crow’s voice pulls Akira’s attention to him. He rubs his chin thoughtfully. “With Arachnia’s shadows on high alert and Joker the way he is, we may not get much done as we currently are.”

“How long do you propose we wait?”

“A day or two,” Crow suggests mildly. “It’ll give Akira a chance to change Mishima-kun’s cognition as well as settling down the shadows. Now that we know where several entry points are, I believe we will be better prepared for the horde the next time we enter. Unless, of course, you are far too impatient?”

Akira bristles under Crow’s penetrating gaze but keeps his face neutral. He shoves his hands into his pockets out of habit. He nods.

“That’s fine. We’ll give him a day.”

“Oh? Can you change his cognition that quickly?”

“I’ll give it my all.”

“I see. I expected nothing less from our fearless leader.” Crow chuckles.


	10. Cold Moon

Yusuke knows what’s on Akira’s mind even before they’re out of the Metaverse. Akira isn’t easy to read most times, but with the new level of intimacy their advancing relationship brought them made it easier for Yusuke to know what Akira thought of half the time. Their brief discussion about Mishima before the palace infiltration was something still buzzing in Yusuke’s mind. He was not a man who enjoyed dwelling on things he could not control, but the pesky images of Mishima crowding in front of Akira the same way he did at the café a few days ago kept invading his thoughts like an unwanted fly.

He is angry, understandably so. Akira’s glances of concern throughout their brief exploration of the palace are enough for Yusuke to know that he isn't hiding his emotions well enough. The reckless urgency Akira expressed in the palace, the irritation that presses the corners of his mouth or the subtle furrowing of his brows whenever Crow mentions Akira’s inability to help them—Yusuke _knows_ Akira’s mounting frustration for the situation is increasing. And it pains him that he simply cannot brush aside the ugly feeling that enveloped within him.

Once they're alone in LeBlanc, Yusuke could no longer hold his tongue.

“Your behavior in the palace was absolutely foolish, Akira. How far do you think we would have gone without your brilliant guidance shining the way? What do you think would have happened if you became injured during a fight because you charged forward without me knowing?”

“I’m sorry!” Akira says with more infliction Yusuke is used to seeing. “We don’t really have _time_ to waste here. I didn’t want to hold everyone back.”

“Your safety is a more pressing concern. One day or two would not set us back.”

Yusuke does not miss the look of disagreement that flashes across Akira’s face before the shorter boy makes way toward the refrigerator.

“Would you like something to drink or eat maybe?” He offers tiredly.

Yusuke’s heart twinges in pain. The exhaustion Akira feels is apparent in his slow movements. Yusuke cannot fathom the amount of stress piling on his boyfriend’s shoulders. With Sae’s treasure route secure yet left untouched, with the current investigation into the Phantom Thieves thanks to the unexpected murder of Haru’s father and now Mishima’s predicament, Yusuke knows—understands—that Akira’s recklessness is more than selfishness. His sense of duty is a heavy driving force, one that would destroy him needlessly if their leader was not more careful.

“No thank you,” Yusuke declines. He studies the profile of Akira’s face, painfully aware of the slight frown etched into his lips. “Mishima’s distortion is not your fault, Akira.”

The small flinch Akira fails to hide is excruciating. Something akin to frustration bubbles uncomfortably in Yusuke’s chest. He tries to regain control over the hurricane of emotion running through his veins but it proves difficult. Akira moves around the café with mechanical movements. He pours himself a drink into a coffee cup and stares absently into it.

“I shouldn’t have encouraged him.”

“It is _not_ your fault,” Yusuke stresses. “Matters of the heart cannot be controlled. You and I _know_ this. Emotions are as powerful as the very essence of nature itself. Mishima’s distortions are _his_ matters, not yours.”

“I should have known,” Akira scowls. “We’re Phantom Thieves. We’ve seen his shadow, we knew what the problem was and yet _I_ chose to let him solve matters on his own.”

“You believed he was capable of doing so.”

“He should have told me about his feelings.”

Yusuke’s mood sours. “And what would that have changed?”

Akira sighs heavily. “I don’t know. Nothing? Everything?”

An overwhelming sense of sadness barrels into Yusuke. His heart squeezes painfully tightly, his breathing suddenly labored. The idea of their entire relationship changing or having never existed in the first place sends unpleasant chills down his mind. Images of Akira with another—with Mishima—flashes into his mind like an unwanted film reel. It's then he realizes, with a startling sense of clarity, that life without Akira was no longer an option for him. It seemed far too unbearable now.

He swallows thickly, mouth dry, his tongue heavy. He’s unaware of the café around him until familiar, warm hands cradle his cheeks. Yusuke’s eyes tear themselves away from the counter and into the dark, open eyes of Akira. They’re filled with love and adoration, the smile on his lips about as gentle as they feel. The exhaustion he saw earlier in his boyfriend’s face remains, but it’s not as prominent as before.

“I’m sorry, I’m being selfish,” Akira confesses, his voice soft and full of emotion. “There’s so much… I haven’t been honest with you about what’s been going on with me, Yusuke, and I don’t know what’s going to happen from this point onwards. But I do know one thing.” Akira presses their foreheads together gently. His thumb traces along the edges of Yusuke’s jawline in comforting, warm circles. “I love you.”

Yusuke’s breath hitches. The unwanted images in his mind disperse. Akira keeps him close despite their awkward hunching over the bar counter.

“Akira,” Yusuke’s voice sounds breathless even to his own ears. It makes the small smile on his boyfriend’s face widen further.

“I know you’re worried about me and I’m sorry for that too,” Akira continues. He pulls away slightly and Yusuke yearns to chase after him. He misses their proximity already. “But please trust me when I say that we can’t waste time.”

It dawns on Yusuke then, as he studies the almost desperate expression on Akira’s face, that his sense of urgency had more to do than just wanting to finish Mishima’s palace.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” He asks.

“Please trust me.” 

Another deflection. At this point, Yusuke isn’t surprised, but the sense of heartbreak that had suddenly overwhelmed him was no longer present. He nods slowly at first then with more certainty.

“I trust you.”

Akira’s smile is illuminating.

* * *

Mishima’s text messages bombard his phone later that night. Akira elects to ignore them, aware of the false apologies and fake promises Mishima can only give him at this point. His mind is a mess and his dreams are thankfully nonexistent. A quick trip into the Velvet room is all he needs to feel some sense of accomplishment despite knowing he may not be able to use the Personas on their next trip in.

In school, Mishima returns to his blatant gawking. The students around them whisper and gossip; rumors spread, but Akira is deaf to it all. He disappears during lunch, ignores the boy’s incessant text messages again and only really acknowledges him when Mishima gets in trouble for daydreaming in class.

From Akira’s point of view, the shorter boy looks haggard. The dark circles under his eyes are more pronounced today than they were the day before. His hair is a mess and while nothing else seems out of place, Akira can tell he’s wound up tighter than a coiled spring, ready to snap. He turns away before Mishima can catch his eyes.

Can he change his cognition? Akira isn’t so sure. The way Mishima stares at Akira is unsettling. There’s a sense of awe and wonderment that sparkles in those dark colored eyes, but the deeper he looks the more aware he is of the dark possession that lurks within.

Akira nearly snaps his pencil in two with how tightly he grips it.

_I can’t change his cognition._ The thoughts slither into his mind with startling clarity. _Not with the way he is right now._

As it stands, Akira was not a threat to Mishima. He was the reward.


	11. Blood Moon

The ever looming presence of Mishima’s Spy Headquarters towered over the backstreets of Yongen-Jaya. It was still just as disorienting as the last time they were there, only this time, instead of finding themselves in one of the alleyways of Yongen-Jaya, they were on the roof of the building. As they expected, because Mishima had never seen the attic of LeBlanc, the roof of the headquarters remained outside of Mishima’s cognition. The dusty, wooden walls of the attic gave way to the open space of the Metaverse.

Akira peers down the ledge of the building. It wasn’t nearly as tall as he first presumed, but still high enough to feel the uncomfortable swoop in his stomach as he stares down into the empty streets. He pulls away from the ledge, suddenly dizzy. Turning around, he comes face to face with Crow’s inquisitive stare. It doesn’t take him long to realize what he’s staring at.

“I take it the mission was a failure?”

“No. I didn’t try.”

Even through Crow’s red mask, Akira can make out the quirked eyebrow the older boy was giving him.

“My apologies, I must not have heard correctly. Did you say you “didn’t try”?”

“Yup,” Akira says, popping the “P”. “Mishima won’t see me as a threat unless I put everyone here in jeopardy. I can’t sacrifice our only chance to get his treasure. We’ll have to do this with me as I am.”

“That’s dangerous,” Queen states amidst the worried murmurs of the others. “Without your abilities, we may not get far—”

“This is reckless, Joker.” Fox cuts in. “You will only be a distraction—”

“I asked you to trust me,” Akira’s eyes go hard as he stares intently at Fox. “Please.”

“This is foolishness,” he reiterates, though the bite in his words are gone. “But… I know you will not change your mind. I will stay by your side.”

“Thank you.”

“So be it then,” Crow says with an air of defeat that doesn’t quite match the gleam in his eyes. “Let us begin.”

“We’ll go through the air vents,” Akira announces, turning to the rest of the gang. “Hide from the cameras as best as we can. We don’t want to alert Arachnia before we’re ready.”

Ann scoffs at the mention of her cognitive form. Akira pays it no mind. He supposes he doesn’t blame her, it seemed to be a trend for people to think her as scandalous despite her sweet nature. First, she was “Kamoshida’s bitch” now, she was Mishima’s...

Akira shakes the thought away before it can settle any further. No, that wasn’t right. Mishima’s cognition of Ann didn’t stem from some innate desire for her. She was merely a reflection of the rumors, an idea that was buried deep into the boy’s mind thanks to thoughtless gossip spread by their peers. Mishima didn’t know Ann nearly half as well as the rest of the thieves did, but he still _knew_ her—even suspected her. She was a thief in his palace, after all, and it made Akira wonder _who else_?

“Joker,” Crow’s voice snaps Akira out of his thoughts. He stands by the air duct entrance, waiting.

Akira’s quick glance across the roof makes him realize he’s dozed off for far too long. The rest of the thieves are already inside. Crow watches him carefully, an expression Akira finds difficult to read mars his face.

“Are you sure you wish to join us? You seem rather distracted. I understand you feel responsible for Mishima-kun’s predicament, but, allowing… _personal_ feelings to stand in the way will put all of us in jeopardy.”

“I’m fine,” Akira presses, making his way toward the air vent. “I’ll be careful.” He stops in front of the older boy and gives him an amicable smile. “Thank you for your concern.”

He slips into the air vent.

* * *

Mishima’s palace was about as long as Sae’s Casino and only half as complicated as Okumura’s spaceship. From the outside, the building was deceptively small, but on the inside, the palace had floors upon floors filled with interesting knick-knacks and frustratingly complex puzzles for them to solve. The number of shadows varied from floor to floor, and while scouring through each floor through the ventilation system kept them off of the radar, Akira knew their luck had to lose out eventually.

He only hoped it wouldn’t be so soon.

“Isn’t there a way you can scan the whole damn place and build a map off of that?” Skull grumbles as they crawl through another vent.

Oracle’s exasperated sigh reverberated off the metallic walls. “If we had a proper run the first time, maybe!” She hissed. “If we can find another safe room, I can probably work up a rudimentary map of the palace based off of what we’ve already crawled through but—OW! Queen!”

Akira’s head nearly collides into the flat end of Fox’s butt. The vent systems are too narrow for him to peer over the other boy’s prone form but it doesn’t take him long to realize what’s happened.

“Sorry,” He hears Queen say from further up. There’s a rustle of movement he can’t decipher. He glances backwards toward Noir, who merely gives him a curious look. She’s about as lost as he is.

“Man, what’s the hold up?” Skull asks. He’s further up in the line, right in front of Fox and behind Panther. Mona and Crow take point and their distance makes it hard for Akira to hear their conversation.

The hushed murmurs of Crow’s and Mona’s voices increase with intensity.

“Go back!” Queen starts, sounding oddly worried. “Go back, _go back_!”

“What the hell is—“

Akira hears it before comes. The loud, unpleasant screech of metal bending and buckling screams in his ears. The floor of the ventilation system rattles beneath his palms. Oracle’s shrieks of fear drowns out the remaining sounds, as she tries to scramble backwards into safe ground. Noir is already moving by the time Akira registers what’s happening.

The vent buckles beneath his weight. It snaps in half, cutting him off from Fox and the others, and falls, taking him and Noir with it. Akira’s heart flies into his throat; the dip in gravity is unpleasant and startling, and their fall is startlingly long. The vent shaft crashes to the bottom with an ear splitting clatter. Akira and Noir practically bounce inside the shaft, their bodies slamming against the four walls of the container and knocking the wind out of their lungs. Noir ends up outside of the shaft, wheezing for breath while Akira remains inside.

Distantly, he can barely make out the worried cries of his friends until more ear piercing metal screeches. More _clangs_ echo throughout the spacious room until silence falls heavily among them. Akira’s ears are ringing; his body aches from the bruises he’s sure he’s covered in and his lungs burn desperate for the air that was brutally stripped from him. With strenuous effort, he crawls out from the dented metal casing of what was once the ventilation shaft and into the open area they had fallen into.

He blinks through the bleariness, the world around him a dizzying mess of colors. It takes a moment, but his vision finally settles and he realizes where they are.

It’s a cafeteria, large and spacious, with various tables and chairs scattered about. Akira spies the dented, mangled mess of his and Noir’s air shaft behind him. On the other side is Noir herself, slowly rising to her feet as she too regains her bearings. Further away are the others, their pieces of the shaft scattered about the cafeteria in varying degrees of damage. They groan from pain, others wheeze.

Mona lays flat on the ground, moaning from the dizziness.

Crow climbs to his feet at the same time Skull does. He glances toward the ceiling. Akira follows his gaze where the detached remains of the ventilation system still hangs.

“Well that was unpleasant,” he chuckles humorlessly. “Is everyone alright?”

“Barely,” Oracle moans.

“I’m okay,” Panther sighs. She grabs Skull’s offered hand and rises to her feet. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“Akira!” Fox is in Akira’s face before he realizes it and examines his body for injuries. “Did you sustain any injuries? Do you feel pain anywhere?”

“I’m fine,” Akira assures him gently. “Just bruised. You?”

“Bruised as well.” He sighs. “Noir, are you alright?”

“Oh yes, I’m fine,” She says, joining them. She looks about as haggard as the rest of them, though the pleasant smile on her face fills Akira with a sense of comfort he didn’t realized he needed. “That was rather unexpected—“

Noir’s words are drowned out by a sharp _crack_ that rips through the air. Akira whirls on his feet, adrenaline shooting through his veins, when his eyes fall onto a dreadfully familiar presence. Arachnia stands before them, her whip stretch taut in her hands and a playful smile on her lips. She giggles at them once they notice her presence and blows them a flirtatious kiss.

Panther fumes in outrage while Mona struggles not to swoon. But it’s not Arachnia’s presence that draws Akira’s gaze, it’s the group behind her that does, or rather, it’s _him_.

Shadow Mishima stands tall and proud amidst his group of thieves, his smile smug. He looks nothing like the real Mishima, the one Akira knows in the real world.  Yet, every detail of his face, from the shape of his eyes to the strands of hair on his head, is exactly like him. Yet, instead of the familiar uniform of Shujin Academy, Shadow Mishima wears an expensive, well-fitted black suit complete with black tie and shined shoes. The cocky smile on his face seems out of place; it distorts his appearance in ways Akira can’t comprehend. His eyes glow with the unearthly yellow that seem to be present on all the shadows from the Metaverse and as he scans the cafeteria, his eyes land on Akira within seconds. It’s almost frightening how quickly Mishima finds him. Dread settles heavily in Akira’s stomach.

On either side of Shadow Mishima stand two horrifying familiar figures. On his right is a Cognition of Skull, or at least what Akira _presumes_ to be Skull. He’s crouched low to the ground, an unpleasant, wide sneer on his face. The rest of his face is hidden by his skeleton mask, it’s nearly identical to Skull’s even down to the finer details with the exception of a crack that snakes its way down the left side of his mask. But unlike Skull, who growls in rage as his dark eyes peer threateningly into his Cognitive form, _this_ Skull isn’t dressed anything like him. His ears are pierced from lobe to cartilage and his clothes are adorned with various spikes and chains. He jeans are torn in certain places, revealing the toned legs of a runner just beneath. His gloved hands grip tightly around the edge of a bent, grimy metal bat. It hangs menacingly against his shoulder. Even from his distance, Akira notices the way the Cognition squeezes and un-squeezes around the bat’s handle.

To Shadow Mishima’s left is Fox. Unlike Arachnia and Cognitive Skull, he’s the only one not smiling. He’s as hauntingly beautiful as Fox; his posture poised and elegant. He doesn’t wear his mask in the same way the others do. Instead, it rests against the side of his head and is the splitting image of Fox’s mask, only blue and white rather than the usual red. His hand rests against the hilt of his sword, his glowing yellow eyes peering at nothing.

Fox and Noir draw closer to Akira, neither one of them taking their eyes of off the cognitions.

In spite of the situation, Akira finds himself drawn to the cognition. He always knew Mishima was perceptive; he's often overlooked in class, and as far as Akira was aware, Mishima doesn’t have that many friends in school—if he had any to begin with. He was their biggest fan—that much is abundantly clear—and yet, somehow, despite not knowing for certain who the real Phantom Thieves are, his cognitive forms of Panther, Skull and Fox are frighteningly spot on. It makes him wonder, for one horrifying moment, if Mishima has more Thieves stalking around the palace. Is there an Oracle hidden in the rafters? A Queen? A Noir? But more importantly, does Mishima have a cognition of _Akira_ somewhere? And if he did, where is it?

Fox and Noir draw closer to Akira, neither one of them taking their eyes off of the cognitions standing before them.

Shadow Mishima’s laughter carries across the cafeteria, it reminds Akira of the villains in the anime he used to watch as a kid. Somehow, the idea makes him want to smile, but he keeps his face neutral, his muscles tight with tension.

“Welcome to my headquarters,” Shadow Mishima says with a wide, excitable smile. “I’ve been waiting for so long for this moment! The Phantom Thieves in my own headquarters! This is a dream come true.”

Akira catches movement from the corner of his eyes. Crow and the others are scattered throughout the cafeteria in varying degrees of hurt. Mona is back on his feet and the closest to Crow, who eyes their enemies with a calculated glare. Skull and Panther are on the farthest side of the room with Oracle and Queen stands somewhere between their group and Crow. Akira can’t gauge their injuries from his position, but he hopes, based on their stances, that they’re not at a disadvantage.

“I’ve been watching you.” Akira returns his gaze toward Shadow Mishima and finds the other boy’s eyes back on him. “I knew it was only a matter of time. I hope you’ve enjoyed my headquarters. I designed it with you specifically in mind.”

“Mishima, stop this,” Akira pleads. He’s caught off guard by the sound of his voice—so full of emotion its startling. The guilt he’d manage to keep at bay for the duration of their infiltration weighs heavily in his chest. His fists clench, his mouth suddenly dry.  This isn’t his fault, he knows it’s not, but staring at the face of his sins makes it harder to convince himself.

“I’m sorry for everything I’ve done to you to make you feel this way but we don’t have to do this. We don’t have to fight!”

The Shadow tilts his head slightly in interest. His yellow eyes take Akira in slowly, first from his face and then down his body until he’s staring into Akira’s eyes again. Akira can sense Fox’s body tense beside him. He steps even closer to Akira, the fabric of his uniform brushing Akira’s arm. Shadow Mishima’s eyes grow sharp at the movement. He zeroes in on their proximity. A dark smile spreads across his face.

“No, I think we really do. Arachnia!”

Arachnia perks up at the mention of her name. “Yes?” She coos, all starry eyed and bright.

From the corner of his eye, Akira can see Panther physically bristle in outrage.

“Perform operation D.A.C.”

Arachnia licks her blood red lips. “Your wish is my command, Director,” she purrs.

Her thorny whip cracks through the air before the others can react. Suddenly, hordes upon hordes of shadow surround the Thieves. Crow’s voice barely carries over the sounds of the shadows, but those closest to him fall back to his side with their weapons ready. Fox and Noir close in on Akira, shielding him from the prying eyes of the shadows alienating them from the rest of the group. But Akira pays them no heed. Instead, he stares directly toward the group of cognitive Thieves.

The Director gives him a cocky grin before Cognitive Skull and Fox escort him out of the room.

Arachnia sighs despondently. “My poor babies were _so_ disappointed they couldn’t play with you all last time. Why do you guys have to be so mean?”

“Let me go!” Panther screams, her right wrist clutched tightly in Skull’s hand. “I’m gonna fry this _bitch!_ ”

“We have bigger problems than her right now, Panther!” Skull cries, frantically eyeing the surrounding shadows. “What’s the plan to get out of this alive you guys!?”

“We’ll fight our way through,” Crow states, his fingers itching toward his mask. “If Arachnia is a cognition of Panther then there is a possibility they may share the same weakness. Assuming Mishima-kun does not understand the concept of Persona’s, we may only have to deal with Arachnia as she is.”

“Then we’ll need all the ice power we can get,” Queen says. “Fox! We’ll need your ice!”

Fox grunts in acknowledgement but doesn’t move from his position. Akira hastily eyes the surrounding shadows, anxiety creeping through his limbs. Without access to his arsenal of Personas, he’s a point of distraction for the others. And without a weapon, how would he be able to defend himself?

“This won’t be easy,” Noir murmurs, surveying the horde. “Do you have any suggestions, Akira-kun?”

“Just one,” he says, turning to her. “I’ll need a weapon. If we’re going to fight, I want to be able to defend myself!”

“Akira, I refuse to allow you out of my sight—“

“You heard Crow. Arachnia is a cognition of Panther, they may share the same weaknesses.” Akira rests a hand gingerly on Fox’s shoulder in the hopes of reassuring him. “We’ll need your strength for this. You and Noir. Trust me, Yusuke. Please.”

The scowl that twists across Fox’s face looks painful. “Very well,” he mutters with a slight grimace. “Please be careful.”

Akira’s smile is the only response he can give. The shadows attack without warning. They rip off their masks and transform into their true forms, but it's nothing Akira can’t dodge. With Noir’s axe in hand, he weaves through the horde, dodging and ducking attacks while the rest of the thief draw closer in formation.

Arachnia’s thorny whip cracks through the air menacingly. From where he stands, he can’t see who she’s up against, but the commanding voices of Fox summoning Kamu Susano-o and Crow’s _“Robin Hood!”_ leads him to believe Arachnia won’t be a threat for much longer. He reaches the farthest side of the cafeteria before he knows it and takes cover beside the mangled air vent shaft. The rest of the shadows are dwindling in numbers, Makoto’s persona makes quick work of the smaller ones as she tears through them with Anat’s help.

Akira examines the axe clenched tightly in his hand. It’s heavier than the daggers he’s used to dealing with and feels uncomfortable in his hands. He feels less like a burden with the weapon, but knows, if push came to shove, his inexperience with Noir’s weapon would be more of a hindrance than help. And yet, the crowd of shadow’s don’t seem to notice his presence as they charge forward, screeching and screaming as the phantom thieves duck and dodge. The sound of battle reverberates dully against the metallic structure of the vent shaft.

A burst of flames prompts Akira to look in the direction of the battlefield. He’s immediately blinded by the visual presence of Fox’s back as he crashes into Akira with such force, they skid along the floor until they’re several feet away from the air shaft. Noir’s axe gets knocked out of Akira’s hands upon impact. It spins across the floor until it’s lost in the battle of shadows, but Akira pays it no mind. He scrambles to his knees, panic pooling into his chest.

“Fox? Fox!” Akira cries, crawling to him. Arachnia’s giggles are lost amidst the noise of battle. He fails to hear the voice of the others calling to them, his attention focused solely on the limp, injured form of Fox in his hands. He rests his boyfriend’s head on his lap, dark eyes surveying the rest of Fox’s body for visible injuries. His clothes appear to be singed from Arachnia’s burst of flames; he’s covered in dust and sweat, some fragments of his clothes still smoky from a harrowing brush with fire.

Akira lifts Fox’s mask carefully just as the taller boy grunts and wipes the smudge of ash from his face.

“You gave me a heart attack.”

Fox grimaces. “I apologize. I underestimated the power of her flames.”

Arachnia’s pained scream shatters Akira’s temporary relief. From across the cafeteria, he finds her hunched over, hands clutching her face as blood spews from between her fingers. He catches sight of Crow’s, Noir’s and Skull’s landing, each of their persona’s vanishing in a flash of light. Queen, Panther and Mona finish off the last of the horde, the three of them panting from the strain but keeping steady. Oracle remains close to the others, her attention focused on the panting cognition of Panther. It’s then Akira notices how far he and Fox are from the rest of them.

A frustrated scream rips through Arachnia’s throat. The shattered remains of her spider mask crumbles to the ground, bits and pieces embedded into her bloody skin. She tears them out, yellow eyes boiling with rage.

“You little pests!” She screeches. “How _dare_ you ruin my beautiful face?!”

Panther is too far for Akira to make out the expression on her face, but he can read the girl well enough to know the frustration that wafts from her in waves.

“I’d consider it an improvement!” Panther mocks, her body tight with tension.

Arachnia’s whip slashes the air in lightning speed. It whips Panther straight across her face, tearing through mask and skin. She screams from the pain as blood splatters across the floor. The chorus of _“Panther!”_ and _“Ann!”_ fill through the room, but before either of them can react, another wave of shadows heed Arachnia’s call. They storm into the room, ramming into the closest Thieves they can reach and scattering the others.

Akira watches in horror as Arachnia bursts into motion. Her thorny whip flies across the air and wraps around Crow’s arm. The sharp thorns rip into his clothes and dig into his skin, dots of pink bleeding into the white of his outfit. With unforeseen strength, she rips him from the ground and flings him into Queen. Their bodies collide, and, through the momentum, they crash into the wall, cracking the surface. 

“What the hell?!” Skull shrieks, dodging an attack from a shadow. “Where did she get that strength from?!”

“Skull watch out!” Oracle cries.

Akira loses track of the battle. Arachnia’s sudden enhanced speed makes her nearly impossible to track. The increasing number of shadows that pour into the cafeteria like a black wave blinds him to the sight of the others. Fox struggles to regain his bearings. He grunts from the pain, struggles to right himself and climb to his feet, but collapses from the strain.

The soft curse that escapes his lips is enough to drag Akira back to reality.

“Yusuke, don’t move. I’ll… I’ll find a way to heal you!” Akira searches desperately around the room, but no matter where his eyes turned, all he found were the struggles of his companions. “S-shit.”

“A-Akira--!”

Arachnia is in front of them before Fox can force Akira’s name from his lips. She towers over them like a foreboding presence, her black bodysuit torn and shredded in places where the thieves’ weapons had torn into her skin. Her face is a bloody mess, ruined in a way Akira hoped he would never see on Ann’s face in reality. The expression on her face is twisted in rage, the frustration and hatred that in her eyes make the yellow of her irises grow even brighter.

She cracks her whip with startling speed. It snaps right beside Akira’s ear; the sound is ear splitting. He flinches from the force, and she takes that moment to kick him away from Fox. Akira crumbles to the ground not too far from them, his world a haze as he struggles for breath. His jaw burns from the pain of Arachnia’s kick, he can already taste the copper of his blood from his teeth cutting the inside of his cheeks, but before he can regain his bearings, Arachnia’s stiletto boot crashes down harshly against his chest. He wheezes, his lungs screaming. She digs the point of her heel into his sternum. Akira cries from the pain.

His fingers dig into the leather of her boots, scratching feebly in the hopes of gaining some type of purchase, yet she only presses harder, squeezing the air out of his very longs.

“Ak-ira--!” Fox grunts, his arm extending across in a vain attempt to reach Akira.

Arachnia’s attention turns to Fox then, and for one horrifying moment, Akira’s worst fears begin to materialize. The twisted smirk that crosses her face is a stark contrast to the giggly, seductive one she’d first given them, and Akira can’t help the panic that wants to crawl out of his chest. She lifts up a hand just as a flash of fire bursts into existence above her palm. It illuminates the twisted snarl on her face and the layer of blood that drips from her forehead to her cheeks.

“It’s such a shame, you know?” she giggles maniacally. “To ruin such a pretty face. But here’s a gift from the Director to you, Pretty boy. Have fun in Hell!”

Akira tries to scream but can’t. He watches in terror as Arachnia raises her hand, increasing the size and intensity of the flame. He scratches fruitlessly at her boot, and struggles against her restraints but the strength she uses to pin him down keeps him immobile. He reaches for Fox’s gloved hand, desperate and pleading; tears stream down his face before he notices it.

The crack of a whip ripples across the air. Arachnia jerks in place, the fireball she’d been growing suddenly vanishes without a trace. Something yanks her from Akira, freeing him from her hold and he watches in silent awe as Panther pulls the cognition straight into the glowing saber of Crow’s weapon. Arachnia shrieks from the pain, but her sounds of torment fall silent the moment Crow slices upward.

The remaining horde of shadows vanish, freeing the others from their struggle. Akira watches from his place on the ground as the cognition of Panther falls to her knees, she grips at her stomach for a moment, words lost to her when her body suddenly splits into a burst of shadow.

The palace trembles beneath their feet. Akira can feel his whole body move from the quaking and watches, almost absently, as dust shakes loose from the ceiling lights above. The silence that falls on them is heavy, and as the palace settles back into place again, it’s only then Akira allows himself to breathe.

He can still hear Arachnia’s horrible screams in his ears.

The bright light of Mona’s _diarahan_ ability snaps Akira out of his daze. It takes more effort than it should have for him to turn his head, but he manages and catches sight of Mona healing Fox’s prone form. The relief that washes through him, as Fox heaves a contented sigh, is almost palpable. He struggles to regain his bearings, but his chest aches in pain from where Arachnia had pinned him down.

Panther is by his side in seconds, the others close behind. The whiplash she’d received from the cognition is more gruesome than Akira’s first suspicions. From afar, the wound didn’t look like much—it was just a red smear that dripped along the length of Panther’s face—but up close was another story. It was a horrid, deep gash, enough to ruin Panther’s career as a model, but the blonde girl didn’t seem so concerned with the painful ruin of her cheek and nose. Akira’s eyes trail along the length of the cut, his heart breaking more and more as he realizes just how devastatingly close Arachnia had been to blinding her.

“Ann,” He starts, his voice hoarse from its strenuous use earlier. “Ann, I—“

She shushes him softly, her cyan eyes focused on the rest of his body as Hecate’s _diarahan_ seeps into his skin. It fills him with a sense of warmth that eases the tension out of his muscles.

“It’s not so bad,” she says once she’s done. “It’ll heal.”

“Of course it will!” Mona suddenly huffs, appearing by the girl’s side. “Because _I’m_ going to heal it for you!”

He lays a gentle paw against her wound and uses _diarahan_ once more. Akira watches with bated breath as the torn, bloody mess of what remained of her cheek stitches itself together. The size of the cut shrinks and shrinks until it’s mostly hidden beneath Mona’s paw. He pulls away once he’s done, a smug smile on his lips.

“How do you feel now, Lady Ann?”

The smile she gives him is warm and bright. “Better. Thank you,” she says.

Mona blushes under her radiant gaze. Standing behind her is Skull. He hasn’t said a word throughout the entire exchange, but the heavy gratitude that swims in his eyes as he watches them tells Akira everything he needs to know. Maybe, when all of this was over, he’d try to help his two best friends sort themselves out. Akira takes note of the others.

They’re not nearly as bad as he expected them to be. They’re worn and weary from the seemingly endless battle of shadows and the way Crow wipes the sweat off his brow leads Akira to believe Arachnia’s fight was more of struggle than they had first believed. The wound on Crow’s arm is no longer present, yet the red stains on his uniform sleeve from when blood had dripped onto it remains.

Crow catches Akira staring and gives a low chuckle. “I let my guard down momentarily. But no worries, I will not make the same mistake twice.”

“Yes,” Fox says as he climbs to his feet. “Nor shall I.”

“Well, that’s one down,” Oracle adds just as Fox helps Akira to his feet. “Two more to go before we can take down Mishima!”

Queen’s face morphs into concern. “Don’t forget, we’re here for his treasure. We should avoid fighting him and the others as much as possible. Arachnia’s battle was… exceedingly difficult.”

“We also have Sae-san’s treasure to steal,” Crow says. “Let’s not waste too much time here.”

The thought of Sae’s treasure, still left unattended in the route they had secured before this mess happened, fills Akira with a sense of a determination. He follows the others out of the cafeteria, ready to face whatever else Shadow Mishima had planned for them.


	12. Last Quarter Moon

The searing pain that explodes in his chest is heart-stopping. It feels like someone punched him in the heart or shredded the organ to pieces. Shadow Mishima stops in his tracks and clutches his suit jacket, his blunt nails wrinkling the fabric with how tightly he grips it. The connection he has with Arachnia blips out of existence. It’s so quick and jarring, it feels like she’s left a hole in his heart, and the terror that soon follows is almost suffocating.

He leans heavily against the wall, his breath suddenly labored. The concerned voices of his bodyguards fell on deaf ears as a loud, incessant buzzing takes hold of him. Before he has a chance to respond, the palace quakes violently beneath their feet. He loses his balance and careens forward, the barest hint of an anger-filled scream ready to spill from his lips. But he never reaches the floor. Instead, he’s saved by another figure, one he’d been certain he’d asked to stay away unless told otherwise.

Enveloped tightly in his protective embrace, Shadow Mishima gazes upward toward the familiar masked face of his favorite Phantom Thief. The figure’s eyes are a bright, luminescent red, and filled with such heavy concern, it’s almost enough to silence the fear that spreads like a plague in Shadow Mishima’s body. He doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t need to. Just like with the others, Shadow Mishima is in tune with this figure’s emotions. Their connection is strong, stronger than Shadow Mishima’s connection to Arachnia, perhaps even stronger than his connection to the others, but it’s still not enough.

It was never enough.

Fracture’s ferocious growl captures the Director’s attention. The blond cognition smashes a fist into the ground, shattering the tiles beneath his knuckles, as he practically hisses with pure rage. Arctic rises elegantly to his feet once the Palace stabilizes and dusts off imaginary dust from his clothes. He settles the director with an icy, blank look and says, “It would appear that Arachnia has fallen.”

The tension returns to his muscles then. He pulls away from the figure’s grasps but remains within his vicinity. The trust he feels within this figure’s presence is immense. Shadow Mishima eyes his remaining bodyguards: Arctic is cool, calm and collected, as he usually was in the face of adversity, but Fracture was still hunched, low to the ground, his body visibly shaking from the rage he can barely contain.

“Guide us,” the voice behind him says. It’s low and soft, yet Shadow Mishima can sense the intention behind those very words. “Show them what you are capable of.”

Determination fills his veins. “Fracture,” The Director demands, dark eyes sharp with intensity. “Commence Operation Purge.”

The grin Fracture gives him is both disturbing and feral. “No holding back?” He asks almost innocently despite the horrific bloodthirsty smile on his lips.

“Show them what you’re made of,” he says then turns on his heel to leave.

The immense amount of excitement he feels from his connection to Fracture is telling. Arctic and the dark figure keep close to him as Fracture prepares himself for the fight ahead. The last thing the Director hears as he leaves the hallway is the loud popping of bones.

* * *

Despite Mona’s impeccable healing abilities, Akira finds himself worrying about Panther. He follows behind her, cautious of the way she walks as they continue deeper into the palace. Without Arachnia’s horde of shadows, the place is relatively empty give or take some small fry shadows that end up fleeing the moment they catch sight of the group.

Up ahead, Crow and Queen continue to lead the group while Mona, Noir, and Fox are on either side of him and Panther. Oracle and Skull trail behind the group, the two of them oddly silent, though Akira supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. Despite knowing that all of his friends have healed from their encounter with Arachnia, Akira knows they’re not in the best of shape. Mishima's cognition of Ann had been difficult, that much was certain, and the added wave after wave of shadows that bombarded the others when she wasn’t targeting Fox, Noir, and Crow, must have been as exhausting as fighting Arachnia. But the others kept their chins up and Akira isn’t sure if it’s because they didn’t want _him_ to worry or if it was for their own sakes.

But his eyes are on Panther as she lags behind the others, her steps a bit clumsy and sluggish. He slips to her side, matching her pace as they head up a flight of stairs to the next level. It’s one they haven’t been to before, even when they were cycling through the air vents, but it looks the same as all the others: barren and shadowless. Akira is grateful for it, he doesn’t think his friends could handle another major battle right now.

He takes the moment of silence to examine Panther’s profile. Her red mask is still damaged from Arachnia’s hit, but the skin beneath is no longer a marred mess, thanks to Mona’s healing, but Akira can’t help but imagine the wound still plastered on her face like an unwanted visage of horror. Its then he notices the clear exhaustion written in her eyes, the way the crystalline blue of her iris are duller and, perhaps, even hazier than before.

He stares for too long. Panther turns to him, her eyes inquisitive.

“I’m sorry,” he stammers, caught off guard and embarrassed for staring. “I was just… thinking.”

She gives an amused little hum before turning her attention forward. The gap between them and Crow, Queen and Mona is growing larger by the second. Akira can’t tell if it’s deliberate or if his friends are that exhausted from their battle.

(A part of him feels even worse for having been unable to help them in their time of need.)

“I’m okay, Akira,” she says suddenly, grabbing his attention again. The smile she gives him is small but reassuring. Her words are honest, that much he can tell. “Maybe I’m a little shaken but I’m okay. I _will_ be okay.”

“You were totally badass!” Skull cuts in, startling the two of them. He gives them both a sheepish smile, his eyes apologetic. “I mean, you’re always pretty badass but in that moment? That was _bad. Ass._ You know?”

Panther’s laugh is more tired than amused. “Thanks, Skull. You were pretty badass yourself, too.”

Skull coughs into his fist unexpectedly. It’s loud and harsh, but it doesn’t stop Crow from walking further up ahead. Akira notices Mona and Queen are lagging even behind him and while neither of them is speaking, he wonders what thoughts are going through their heads.

“Yeah, uh, you know,” Skull begins again as he rubs the back of his neck. “What Arachnia did to you back there? With the whip? Even if it was, um, permanent, I would’ve—you’d still be—uh. You know.”

The look on Panther’s face tells Akira that she doesn’t know, but the flat looks Oracle and Noir give Skull tells Akira that _they_ do know. Akira blinks between the group, amused but confused. He turns to Fox the moment he feels his boyfriend’s gloved hand slip into his own. They lace their fingers together.

“Seriously, Skull?” Oracle deadpans.

“You have a way with words,” Noir teases.

Skull’s ears turn pink under their teasing gazes, but Panther merely watches the trio, absolutely at a loss.

“Was that supposed to be a compliment?” She asks.

“In a very Skull way, yes.” Noir giggles.

“Thank you? I guess?”

“Y-you’re welcome,” Skull grumbles, the back of his neck as red as his ears.

Fox’s deep chortle brings a smile to Akira’s lips.

“Here we are!” Crow announces, his voice carrying down the hall. He stands in front of a door, his white-gloved hand already on the handle. “A safe room,” he declares, turning the knob and entering the room.

The safe room they enter is larger than most of the ones they’ve found so far and while Akira is grateful for the additional space, he wonders where exactly in LeBlanc is this safe room meant to represent. The rest of the thieves split up the moment they’re inside. There’s barely any furniture in the safe room—a table in the center, a couple of couches for his friends to lay on and a few chairs are strewn about the room—which is better than the usual emptiness they’ve stumbled upon.

Crows takes to leaning against the farthest wall in the room as he turns to face the others. Queen collapses into the closest chair she can reach with Mona taking his place by the table. Oracle claims a couch for her own. She sprawls along the length of the furniture and bemoans about aching body parts and sore limbs. The rest of them are strewn about, gathering their bearings and finally allowing their bodies to relax.

Despite doing the _least_ , Akira’s body feels sore. His shoulders are tense from the tension he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding and his neck grows sore as he rotates his head. He feels a pair of eyes on him and he pops his shoulders and opens his eyes. Crow is watching him with an expression that is hard to read.

“Something on your mind?” Akira asks.

Crow’s smile is lighthearted. Akira would’ve believed it was genuine had it reached his eyes. “I just have a few concerns,” he admits after a moment. “We knew infiltrating this palace as you are would be difficult on all of us, however, the battle with Arachnia was… eye-opening, to say the least.” There’s a brief flash of _something_ that passes through Crow’s eyes. Akira is sure he imagined it because it’s gone in a flash and the stare that Crow settles him with is the same old hard to read expression.

“What are you implying?” Fox presses, his jaw tense.

“I wonder if it’s safe to continue as we are,” Crow finishes. “Without our fearless leader’s abilities, and the strength level of Arachnia, I can’t help but believe the other two will be just as difficult.”

“It’s not something we can’t handle,” Skull cuts in. “We beat the shit outta that cognition, didn’t we?”

“And came very close to not only losing Akira but Fox and Panther as well,” Crow adds, shooting Skull a steely gaze. “If we, perhaps, had _Joker_ to level the playing field, we may not have sustained as much damage as we did.”

(Akira is sure he’s imagining it, the way Crow’s lips nearly scowl around the sound of his codename, but he knows the truth—knows what awaits for him at the end of the month.)

“Are you suggesting we go back?” Queen asks with a frown.

“I am suggesting we continue _without_ Akira. For our sakes and his.”

The silence that befalls them is heavy. Akira can sense the worry radiating from his friends, but the idea of leaving Mishima’s palace at this point, when they still haven’t found his treasure, or when they still had two more cognitions to go up against, left a sour taste in his mouth. Mishima’s perception of him wouldn’t change unless he jeopardized the manifestation of Mishima’s treasure and while Akira trusts in his friends' abilities, and feels they’re more than capable enough to survive whatever The Director had in store for them, he absolutely could not—would not— _refused_ to leave them alone.

“No,” He cuts in, sharper than he expected to. “I’m not going anywhere. This is _my_ mess. I’m staying to help.”

“What _help_ can you possibly give us?” Crow asks, his frown evident. “Without your abilities, you only serve as a _distraction_.”

The resounding protests the thieves give Crow is lost in Akira’s ears. He knows Crow is right; knows that the longer he stays here with them, he’s going to end up causing more pain for the others in the next two fights. And yet, he can’t leave them alone. He can’t leave _Mishima_ alone.

“I know. You’re right.” His voice alone silences the protest of his friends. All eyes are on him, but Akira’s eyes remain on Crow. “You’re absolutely right, but please understand, I have to stay. It’s my mess.”

The frustrated inhale he hears from Fox tells him everything he needs to know about his boyfriend’s feelings on the matter at hand.

“We have to keep going. If we can.” He adds.

Silence blankets the group again, but it’s lighter than before. Crow’s heavy exhale sounds resigned.

“Very well,” he mutters in defeat. “But if the next fight proves to be just as difficult and dangerous—“

“Then I’ll leave,” Akira promises, and it pains him how much he means it. He turns to Fox at that moment, dark eyes hardened with determination. “Without complaint. I’ll go.”

Fox doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t need to. The barest breath of a nod he receives is the only indication of Fox’s agreement. If he has to leave, if he proves to be more of a nuisance—a distraction--Akira wants to leave knowing that Mishima will be in Fox’s good hands.

“I guess it’s settled then,” Queen says when the moment of silence has gone on for too long. “I still have enough energy for me to continue. How about everyone else?”

The resounding agreements that stem from the others is enough to make Akira smile. Appreciation blossoms in his chest as he takes a good look at each of his friends, moved by their unwavering faith in him. He would be blind not to notice their exhaustion or the way their smiles seem to take more effort than usual to keep, and had he more control of the group, he would have urged them all to go back home. But as it stood, nothing he said now would get them to leave the palace unless they absolutely had to.

“Alright!” Oracle suddenly chimes in, sitting upright in the couch she’d claimed. Various holographic screens surrounded her as she typed away on a holographic keyboard. “It’s pretty crewed, but we’ve explored enough of the palace for me to generate a decent enough map.” As she speaks, a 3D map of the palace generates on her screen. “We’re right here!” She exclaims, pointing to a glowing yellow dot against green, holographic lines. “If my calculations are correct—and they usually are—the treasure we’re looking for is right around… _here!”_ She points to an area that is several floors above their location. “Considering that last two floors we’ve explored have been empty of shadows, I think we can reach that treasure room in absolutely no time flat!”

“Sounds good,” Noir smiles until her eyes catch sight of a rather large empty space between their floor and the treasure room. “What’s this?” she points to the area and marvels when the 3D image zooms into a spacious room lined with columns.

“Seems like another lobby,” Oracle frowns, curious. “I’m not getting any major readings in that area, but it looks like we’ll have to enter it in order to get to the next floor.”

“We better get a move on,” Mona urges, a worried crease etched into his face.


	13. Thunder Moon

Oracle’s map of the palace turns out to be more or less accurate. The journey to reach the chambered room of columns takes a bit longer than it should have, but Akira supposes it’s to be expected. His friends are still sluggish from Arachnia’s fight and while they did manage to recover their energy thanks to some emergency snacks Oracle had packed up for situations like this, they’re still not 100%. Akira hopes neither of Shadow Mishima’s cognitions are waiting for them, but he knows better than to get his hopes up.

He recalls the way the palace shook after Arachnia’s defeat. Her death had to mean _something_ to The Director, and if the palace shaking was proof of that, Akira knows a tougher fight would be waiting for them.

The room of columns—as Oracle started calling it—is bigger than the 3D model predicted. It isn’t like any of the rooms they’ve come across before, and Akira can’t pinpoint exactly why a room like this would exist inside a _Spy Headquarters._ He knows Mishima's a nerd, but he didn’t think the boy was nerdy enough to really think a place like this would exist inside a government building. Akira’s thoughts derail suddenly. He chuckles to himself.

No, he was wrong. Mishima was definitely nerdy enough.

“How extraordinary,” Fox breathes beside him, marveling at the craftsmanship of the columns. “What an unusual sight.”

The columns are Grecian inspired. They line up along the spacious hall, the marble floor alit in a golden hue from the chandelier up above. There are no other pieces of furniture in the room and Akira can’t help but wonder what purpose this place serves in Mishima’s mind. It looks more like a ballroom without windows than a conference hall.

Oracle’s sudden curse jars him out of his thoughts. He turns his attention toward the younger girl and watches, with mild concern, as her holographic screen short circuits before her very eyes. The screens vanish with a _blip_ before Oracle has a chance to salvage her work.

She stomps her foot with a frustrated growl.

“What the hell!”

“Language,” Skull chides jokingly. “What happened to you?”

“I don’t know!” She huffs. She tries to summon the screens again but they fritz out before they can open fully. “Hmm, it seems like they’re being scrambled somehow.”

“Scrambled?” Panther frowns.

“Yeah. I was getting unusual energy readings when we were on our way up here. I was worried it would affect our phones, but I didn’t think Necronomicon would get affected.”

She rubs the tip of her chin thoughtfully.

Akira feels it before it fully registers into his mind. Without the weight of his leather uniform holding him down, the fine hairs on the back of his neck suddenly stand on end. There’s a level of energy that circulates through the air and it courses between them, unseen. A loud, quick _bzzt_ shocks Mona from touching Skull’s belt buckle.

“Ouch!”

“Is it just me or is there a lot of static in the air?” Queen queries.

The static surrounding them intensifies and it takes Akira far longer than he would like to notice the sounds of distant banging. It grows louder and louder until it’s the only thing he can hear, and for one horrifying moment, it dawns on him—and the others. The ground begins to shake, though not nearly as violently as when Arachnia was defeated, and, oddly enough, it doesn’t feel like it's coming from the ground itself but the ceiling.

All eyes fly toward the hanging chandelier overhead. They hear the rattle of the crystals as they jingle in vibration. Dust from the ceiling slowly rains down upon them, but before anyone can say a word, the loudest _bang_ crashes from above.

“What is that?!” Panther shrieks.

“Whatever it is, it's coming down! SPLIT UP!” Queen screams.

They split up in the last second as another bang thunders across the conference hall. The ceiling gives way in seconds as they dash across the room, some screaming, others flailing their arms in panic. Akira and Fox safely escape the barrage of falling debris and watch, with bated breath, as dust and smoke billows upward in a hazy, smokey mass.

The sound of the others reassurances Akira that they’re okay, but his relief is short-lived when bits of electricity dance beneath the smoke. The static energy they’d felt earlier intensifies. Akira can feel the messy curls of his hair lift upward from static. He steals a glance toward Fox and finds that he’s not the only one. The finer ends of Fox’s dark blue hair stand on end, and had the situation not been so serious, Akira would’ve thought it was cute.

The disturbing laugh that carries across the conference hall makes a chill run down Akira’s spine. He whips his eyes back toward the smoldering mound of debris; his muscles tense as anxiety bleeds into his limbs. The sparks of electricity are more prominent now than before. As the smoke clears away, the shadowy form of a figure becomes more noticeable. It steps out of the broken debris of ceiling, dragging a heavy wooden bat in its wake. The figure lifts the bat from the ground and rests it playfully against his shoulder.

Akira and Fox draw closer together, suddenly and inexplicably, _afraid._

The golden eyes of Skull’s cognition peers straight into Akira, the lazy grin that spreads across his face is identical to Ryuji’s but Akira feels more terror staring into the face of this imposter than he has ever experienced in his life.

“The names Fracture,” the Cognition says, and Akira can’t hide the flinch that escapes him from hearing _Ryuji’s_ voice out of this imposter’s mouth. “And _you_ —“ He points the end of his nailed, wooden bat toward them—but it doesn’t land on Akira as he expects. Instead, it lands directly on Fox and Fracture’s grin grows more feral. “—are about to be _purged_.”

The words register in Akira’s ears too late. The moment Fracture finishes speaking, he’s suddenly dashing toward them. Akira doesn’t have any time to think. Fox shoves him out of the line of fire and takes Fracture’s swinging bat head on. The force of their collision pushes him so far back, he’s feet away from where Akira stands.

The rest of the thieves come to Fox’s aid, the light of their persona’s flashing into existence as they call forth their power. Akira remains frozen in place, his mind still reeling. Unwillingly, his mind flashes back to the fight with Arachnia, how she had disabled Fox with her flames and pinned Akira down. She’d planned to destroy him then, Akira was certain of that, but had she planned on killing Akira too?

Or did Mishima only planned on killing his friends?

Someone body slams Akira to the ground, jarring him out of his thoughts. His back crashes harshly against the marbling flooring and a small, breathless grunt rips from his throat as pain travels up and down his spine. He snaps his head toward the person weighing him down and comes face to face with Crow’s irritated scowl.

“Wha--?” Akira tries but Crow turns his attention back toward the fight.

“Stay alert,” is all he says before jumping right back in.

Akira grits his teeth and berates himself for spacing out. He climbs back to his feet and surveys the battle. It’d been barely more than ten minutes and already the Conference hall is an unrecognizable mess.

Unlike Arachnia, who relied on her ability to summon hordes of shadows to give her the advantage, Fracture faces them head-on with brute strength alone. The strength in which he possesses is beyond anything Akira has ever seen before. Queen barely has enough time to dodge Fracture’s nailed bat before it smashes devastatingly into a nearby pillar. The column cracks and crumbles, filling the room with white smoke and debris. Queen scrambles to escape, coughing and spluttering as the dust shroud her lungs.

“Is this guy even human?!” Oracle shrieks. Without the static charge from earlier, Oracle’s fingers blur across the virtual screens that hover in front of her as she tries to pinpoint a weakness. “Queen, are you okay?!”

“I’ll be fine!” Queen coughs. “Long ranged attacks may be better suited for this kind of fight! It’s too dangerous to—“

“Watch out!”

Fracture barrels across the room in lightning speed. His laughter carries across the area as his bat swings dangerously from left to right. Skull curses, narrowly missing the Cognition’s bat swing while the others scramble to get out of the way.

Akira stays close to Fox and Oracle, the former using his body to shield them both, as he watches the destructive force that is Fracture. Crow and Noir dive in for another attack, each one of them relying on the ranged abilities of their personas to lay harm onto the Cognition. From his distance, Akira can’t make out their success.

“Dammit, it’s like he has amplified resistance to everything!” Oracle cries, her eyes darting from screen to screen. “Mona! Keep using your wind attacks! It’s the only thing that’s doing any serious damage to him!”

Mona’s response gets drowned out by the sound of more crumbling structures. The other thieves disappear within the cloud of smoke that erupts from the latest column to be destroyed. It fills Akira with anxiety not being able to keep sight of his friends, but more than that, watching them give out their all against Shadow Mishima’s cognitions make the guilt gnawing in his chest all the more prominent. It isn’t fair for them to be dealing with this while he's forced to stand on the sidelines like a helpless child.

Fox seems to sense his unrest because he glances over his shoulder toward Akira’s direction and gives him a strained, yet reassuring smile.

“Have faith in their abilities, Joker,” he says. “That have you as their leader. They will prevail.”

“I know that,” Akira grimaces. He reaches for Fox’s uniform and grips the back of his shirt like a lost, terrified child. “I just… hate feeling this helpless.”

“I know.”

“Uh, guys? I hate to break up this super touching, super gay moment but HE’S COMING THIS WAY!”

Fracture bursts from out of the smoky cloud and charges toward them. Electricity dances around him, striking everything within its vicinity. The trio scrambles to avoid the attack, and he smashes down onto their spot with his heavy bat. The strength of his attack shatters the ground, but it’s the electricity that does the most damage.

Oracle screams in pain, the tail ends of the electric bolts nipping her feet. It’s enough to send a shock throughout her system and the short fries the screens hovering around her. She crashes to the ground not too far from where Fracture stands. She twitches and groans; bits of electricity courses through her hair and limbs.

“ORACLE!” Someone screams.

Fracture doesn’t give Fox and Akira time to breathe. He’s upon them in another second, his wooden nailed bat arching through the air. They split outward before Fracture’s bat can make contact, but the cognition changes trajectory faster than either of them can calculate. The sadistic sneer that curls along Fracture’s lips is the last thing Akira sees before the bat smashes into his side. Stars cloud his vision as a mind-numbing pain explodes throughout his body. He flies across the room like a torpedo, crashes into a wall with a sickening _crack_ and then falls limply to the ground.

Fox’s screams of desperation sound distant in his ears. His vision darkens dangerously, his mind still reeling from the collision. The pain in his side throbs in time with his heart. The back of his mouth tastes like copper.

He takes a breath, but chokes. Suddenly, it’s hard to breathe.

The temperature around him drops several degrees without warning. It’s a struggle to move, but Akira manages to lift his swimming head just in time to catch a wall of ice sealing him off from the rest of the world. Fox is by his side in seconds, and the terror in his eyes is harrowing. The curse Akira hears from Fox’s lips is, perhaps, more disturbing than the fear on his face.

“Akira, where does it hurt? I may have a takemedic left—“

The ringing in Akira’s ears dies down enough for him to make out Fox’s words, but it’s not the only thing he hears. There’s a loud, thunderous banging that reverberates throughout their isolated corner. It makes Akira think of distant thunder on heavy days of rain; the memory alone would have been soothing, had the sounds not sounded so ominous. His hackles rise the louder it gets. The breath he takes in that moment is painful.

Fox whips his attention toward the ice wall, the fear Akira isn’t used to seeing morphs into a terrifying rage. It takes him far too long to realize the rolling bangs he hears aren't thunder, but someone hacking into the wall of ice. One last smash makes the ice wall give way; it shatters into pieces, framing Fracture’s imposing body.

“Found you,” He laughs darkly, golden eyes bright with violent madness. “Your ice was a nice trick, but you forgot the most important thing about me: _Nothing_ stands in my way.” He charges forward like a bullet train.

Fox throws himself in between them. His hands fly toward his mask, Kamu Susano-o’s name barely forming on his lips when Fractures swings the wooden bat wide. Fox parries the weapon with his sword, his blade biting into the bat’s thick wooden frame.

Akira watches in horror as the taller boy struggles against Fracture’s immense strength. Their weapons shake uncontrollably in the standoff; Fox’s sword digs deeper and deeper into the wood until Akira is certain he would’ve cut the bat in half if it weren’t for the bent and broken nails that adorns the ghastly creation.

“Enough of this shit,” Fracture growls suddenly. Without another word, he breaks free from their stalemate, ripping his bat free from Fox’s weapon and slams his left hand, open palm, into Fox’s stomach. He sneers sadistically in Fox’s face before the sound of electricity dances in their ears. Fox screams in agony as electricity courses through his body from Fracture’s ungloved fingertips.

He stumbles backward, nearly tumbles over Akira’s prone form and falls to his knees, his free hand clutching his stomach as he pants. Akira tries to move but finds that he can’t. His body won’t obey his demands. Just like with Arachnia, he’s left immobile and helpless, doomed to watch a cognition wearing his best friend’s face sneer down at them as though they were disgusting pests meant to be terminated.

Not again. He couldn’t bear to witness his boyfriend’s torment _again_.

With a sudden burst of energy, Akira struggles to his feet. The pain in his torso is blinding; the more he moves, the harder it becomes to breathe and the stronger the coppery taste becomes. He manages, somehow, to regain his footing. His body trembles from weakness, blood pools into his mouth that he spits at Fracture’s feet. He glares into the Cognition’s face and prays, deep down, that his abilities would manifest itself in order to protect Fox from his untimely demise.

Fracture eyes him in amusement. “The Director would rather I take you in alive,” he admits after a moment of silence. “But considerin’ you’re already half-dead, might as well fuck ya up a lil’ bit more. Shall I break your legs, Leader?” He jeers menacingly.

“BREAK THIS SHITHEAD!” Skull screams, smashing his weapon right into the Cognition’s face.

Fracture doesn’t react to the attack in time and takes the weapon head on. It’s full of enough power to sends him flying from Akira’s face and he tumbles into an unceremonious heap feet away from them. Mona follows up the attack with a blast of Garudyne from Zorro. An intense spiral of wind shoots forth from Zorro’s maneuvers and whips the prone form of Fracture into the air and further away from the group. Akira watches, in mild relief, as the limping figures of his friends send barrage after barrage of attacks against the cognition.  
He loses sight of the fight as strength leaves his body and he falls, right into the arms of Skull, who catches him far too harshly for his liking. His ribs scream in protest as Skull guides him down and it’s not until he’s fully seated does his body grow numb and his vision darkens.

“Shit! Shit! Hold on, Akira! Hold on--!”

The last thing Akira sees before the darkness consumes him is the panic in Fox’s eyes.

* * *

He feels the connection break before the pain sets in. Just like with Arachnia, it stops him cold in his tracks, but the scream that tears itself from his throat is more from rage than terror. He smashes his fist into the closest wall, over and over again, until the skin on his knuckles tears and blood smears on his pristine white walls. He aims to destroy his hand in another fit of rage but feels the last of his strength drain from his limbs. He falls back and slumps into the arms of his favorite guardian. The palace around them quakes more violently than the first. Dust rains down on them from the ceiling, a few shadows scurry past them, taking no heed of their presence.

The strength of his power is waning, and the rage that had once filled him morphs back into terror.

Shadow Mishima whips his eyes toward Arctic, who watches him as coolly as he always does. The golden hue of his eyes are hypnotically bright, it makes the rest of his form even more enchanting and more ethereal. It’s almost unfair. His movements are as elegant as his looks and while Shadow Mishima picked his thieves with absolute precision, he does not, in any shape or form, enjoy Arctic’s company. His presence is not nearly as comforting as Shadow Mishima’s favorite guardian, nor was he as loyal as Fracture had been. He was skilled, oh yes, the Director wouldn’t have chosen him as his bodyguard if he weren’t, but the coolness in which Arctic operates, the way his golden eyes watch the Director’s every move in complete and utter silence is unsettling.

And now, with the void of Fracture’s defeat weighing so heavily within Shadow Mishima’s heart, the silent panic that had been bubbling beneath the surface of his veins was rising. Not even the warm presence of his favorite guardian can calm the rapid beating of his heart.

“Next—” Arctic’s expression remains frozen, but Shadow Mishima thinks he catches the cognition’s eyebrow twitch just slightly. He clears his throat in an attempt to regain some semblance of control. He settles Arctic with a determined, hard look. “You,” he points to the cognition, his right hand still bloody and pained from smashing his fist into the wall. “You’re next. Purge them before they come for me.”

Arctic bows his head low, the soft murmur of agreement barely forming on his lips when Shadow Mishima hears the heavy, deliberate sigh from his favorite guardian. The hands wrapped so tenderly around his waist removes itself, and for a sliver of a moment, Shadow Mishima feels pain more intense than ever before. He whips around to face his guardian, a rage unlike before quickly boiling in his veins, but the words never get a chance to form.  
He stares into the penetrating eyes of his guardian and _feels_ the defiance lingering within their connection. The hairs on the back of his neck bristle. The Director’s eyes grow sharp and deadly.

“Are you defying me, Ace?” He questions. The words taste like venom on his tongue.

For a brief, heart-stopping moment, the palace seems to freeze. There’s an air of tension between him and his last remaining cognitions; Arctic keeps his body low to ground, frozen in his bow, but Ace stands tall and proud, his presence an ever-looming form over Shadow Mishima. He stares back into the face of his favorite thief, silently daring him to continue.  
The silence between them grows heavy. Thick. Shadow Mishima’s muscles tighten in tension until, suddenly, Ace takes a knee and bows his head before him.

“No,” He finally says. “I am prioritizing your safety above all else, Director. The invaders have proven themselves in the face of Arachnia and Fracture.” Its then Ace settles his red-eyed gaze onto Shadow Mishima. They burn bright with a fire Shadow Mishima _feels_. “You will need both of our strength in order to defeat them.”

“Yes,” Arctic suddenly agrees, and it’s the most jarring experience the Director has ever had. Arctic’s voice is deep and powerful despite his disuse, and just like his outward appearance, it sounds refined and unfairly rich. “Ace is correct. With our strength combined, we may better serve to protect you.”

Arctic’s words echo in his ears. The scowl that forms on his lips feels like it's etched permanently into his skin. He’s not sure how long he’s been scowling, but it must have been long enough with the way his cheeks hurt from keeping it. Golden eyes jump between Arctic and Ace, both guardians on their knees, heads bowed low. Words slip past The Director’s lips before he realizes it: “Better to protect me or the treasure?” He asks.

The answer isn’t directed toward any of them, he realizes, and they must sense it for neither of them answer.

No, that’s not right.

He doesn’t _want_ them to answer.

“Very well then,” The Director says instead before turning his back to them. “Do as you both wish. They will come for the treasure.”

“Then I shall protect your treasure until the very end, Director.” Arctic promises.

Shadow Mishima doesn’t bother gracing him with a response.


	14. Blue Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A super duper special thank you to [Pam](https://twitter.com/skywyld) for the amazing art piece in this chapter!! And another special thank you to [lizibabbles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liziscribbles/profile) for making it possible ToT

Akira feels the world around him before consciousness greets him. He’s aware he’s lying _somewhere_ , or rather, on _something_ , but the whats and wheres are out of his reach. The murmurs of voices surrounding him don’t make sense. They’re deep, but high, close yet far; everything he understands seems distorted and incomprehensible. And yet, the more Akira tries to focus, the more _things_ start to make sense.

His eyes flutter open. The world that greets him is a hazy, blurry mess of colors. The lights are too bright, the colors too dull. Oddly, he feels like his head is spinning despite knowing he’s lying flat on the ground.

No, that isn’t right. He isn’t on the ground, he was… his head was on someone’s lap.

Someone blocks the blinding light. The figure looms over him and Akira strains his eyes to pick out the details on this familiar yet unfamiliar face.

“Akira,” The figure murmurs—his voice is familiar but Akira struggles to understand why. A hand caresses his cheek gently. The figure draws closer. “Akira, can you hear me?”

Akira opens his mouth, but words do not come.

“Akira!” Another voice speaks. Its loud and high pitched, it grates in Akira’s ears but he can’t find the strength to acknowledge them.

Instead, he focuses on the figure. And slowly, agonizingly slowly, features of the figure starts to take form. First the mouth, then the nose—Akira realizes he recognizes this mouth; remembers kissing it over and over. He remembers that nose pointed and cute, yet soft to the touch. He remembers quiet nights in LeBlanc where their noses nuzzle as the rest of the world sleeps. The figure’s eyes become more defined the longer he stares then the eyebrows and the chin.

Suddenly, Akira is staring into the pained, tired eyes of Fox. His mask lays forgotten on the side of his head, worry marks etched so dreadfully deep into his otherwise smooth skin.  
Akira wants nothing more than to reach out and touch his face; to hold him close; to tell him he’s okay— _they’re both okay._ But his limbs are still weak. His whole body feels drained and Akira finds, not for the first time, that his voice refuses to work.

He can feel Fox visibly relax beneath his head, and he realizes, with a bit of embarrassment, that his head is lying on his boyfriend’s lap.

Suddenly, Fox’s head is joined by others. Oracle leans in close, her goggles set aside for Akira to see the full expression on her face. Queen, Panther, and Noir are by his legs, each of them watching him with a mixture of relief on their faces. Skull is somewhere behind the girls. It’s hard for Akira to catch sight of him, but the other boy pushes his way into the group and flashes Akira a happy grin.

“Glad to have you back, Leader,” He says before anyone else can.

“You gave us quite the scare,” Queen chuckles, though it’s humorless. The anxiety he sees in her eyes remains and Akira knows, then, how terrified they must have all been.

His eyes inadvertently trail back to Fox, who watches him intently. Fox’s thumb rubs gentle circles against his cheek. The wave of tranquility that washes over him from the simple touch is beyond anything Akira can ever express.

“I was terrified,” Fox— _Yusuke_ —says, his voice low and soft. His head hangs low, but it's awkward with Akira’s head restricting his movements.

Akira tries again to move his limbs—it finally works, but his hand is shaky from the strain as he lays it gently to cup Yusuke’s soft cheek. The smile Yusuke gives him—relieved, pained, adoration—makes a swell of emotion form in Akira’s chest. A lump grows in his throat and tears start to pool against the corners of his eyes.

“I thought…” Yusuke’s voice breaks. He bites his lower lip, snaps them shut; he leans closer into Akira’s touch. “How do you feel?”

“ _Alive_ ,” Akira breathes, his voice barely a whisper. His eyes are glued to Yusuke’s. He doesn’t dare move them. “ _I love you_.”

The gasp he hears doesn’t come from Yusuke but from someone beyond his vision. The tranquil peace that had fallen between them suddenly shatters and Akira realizes, with a sense of mounting mortification, that he and Yusuke are not alone.

Reality falls back into place as a mixture of activity invades his ears. Oracle’s and Panther’s squeals crescendo in sound while Skull’s and Mona’s embarrassed groans compete with them. Queen and Noir chuckle, but Akira can tell from the way they look away that they are also embarrassed for having been witness to something so _intimate._  Akira can feel the heat of Fox’s blush before he sees it. It paints across his boyfriend’s fair skin like a beautiful splash of scarlet. Fox’s eyes are staring into the corner, most likely from the embarrassment, but he keeps Akira’s palm against his face, holding it down with a hand of his own. He holds onto it tighter when Akira tries to pull away and shoots the others an indignant look when the noise becomes too much.

“Enough of this,” he demands, though the command falls flat when his voice breaks. He clears his throat again, his blush darkening, and straightens himself. Akira’s hand falls away, his strength long since gone, but Fox holds onto it carefully as he gently guides it back down to Akira’s chest. “Akira is still weak. Please cease your quarreling.”

“Oh Inari,” Oracle drawls, an impish grin stretching across her face. “We weren’t ‘quarreling’. We were just gushing how disgustingly cute you two were being.”

“It was like something straight out of a romance drama,” Panther giggles. “Akira is _very_ smooth.”

Oracle nods in agreement. “Well, he does have a high charm stat,” She says with a sigh, as though her comment explained everything. “He is _such_ a protagonist.”

“I have absolutely no idea what that even means,” Queen cuts in before Ryuji could start. “But, congratulations.”

Akira eyes his group of friends for a moment and then bursts into laughter. The effort to laugh strains his throat, but he can’t control himself. There’s a sense of _something_ that overwhelms him. The tears he’d been restraining earlier flows freely down his cheeks thanks to his laughter. The others join in, swept up in the sudden good mood until they’re all chuckling and giggling in one way or another. It’s not until Akira finally settles down that the others follow his wake.

He finds enough strength to sit up on his own. It doesn’t stop Fox from giving him a helping hand or letting Akira lean his weight against Fox’s strong, comforting frame. Akira suspects his weakness is from someone’s _diarahan_. Despite the spell being a recovery ability, it was still hard on their bodies to recover from damaging attacks. Akira glances back toward Fox and wonders if he feels just as exhausted as Akira does.

Crow clears his throat as he makes his appearance known. From where Akira had been laying down, he couldn’t see the older boy until now. Crow’s mask remains in place despite the others having removed theirs and while Akira can’t make out the expression on the older boy’s face, he can tell by the sharp look in Crow’s eyes that he’s not _happy_.

“As touching of a reunion as this is,” He begins, his voice leveled despite the irritation in his eyes. “I think it’s safe to presume that we’ve done all we can for Mishima and his palace.”

“What?” Akira frowns, sitting up straighter. He turns back to the others and takes in their appearance.

They’re worse than before. The exhaustion is keenly evident in the way dark circles form under their eyes. Their uniforms are damaged in various places, there are no bruises or cuts, but holes left from Fracture’s assault is enough to tell Akira that the fighting continued even after he blacked out.

He swallows thickly, his heart suddenly hammering. “What happened?”

“Well, he was weak to wind,” Queen points out after a moment. “But he was… remarkably difficult despite that weakness.”

“Yeah,” Skull sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Even after you were knocked outta the fight, he just kept _comin’._ Bastard would not stop no matter what.”

“It took all of us to take him down,” Noir adds. “We had to use many of our resources to do it.”

“But that’s beside the point,” Crow interjects, approaching the group. “You have a promise to keep. If we continue any further, _we_ will perish.”

The heavy silence that falls on them is unpleasant. Akira knows Crow is right. His friends are beyond exhausted and as much as he would rather take Mishima’s treasure today, it would be suicide to continue.

“We still have time,” Fox murmurs quietly, as though he only wanted Akira to hear. “We have Sae’s treasure route secured. The investigation still has yet to take place and Mishima—“ Fox leans in close, his breath hot on the shell of Akira’s ear. “—will not harm you.” He rests a gentle hand on Akira’s shoulder.

Akira doesn’t hesitate to intertwine their fingers.

He turns back to Crow, his brows furrowed into determination.

“Alright. We’ll come back tomorrow.” He turns back to the others and doesn’t miss the relief that flashes across their faces. “Let’s go home.”

* * *

Akira can feel the weakness in his legs as he walks. He’s shaky and a bit awkward, but he hopes it’s not as physically visible as it feels. The hallway they step into is unfamiliar to him and it takes him a moment to realize the safe room they’d been in was one they found _after_ Fracture’s defeat. The colors of the wallpaper on this floor were in varying shades of blue and white, whereas the walls from before were mostly bare and plain.

There are no more shadows so the journey is relatively calm and quiet. Akira can’t help but wonder if they will ever encounter more shadows in this palace again, now that two of The Director’s cognitions were defeated.

Conversation between them is non-existent. His friends are too weary to break the silence and while Oracle and Mona murmur something every once in a while, no one bothers to respond to their topics. For a moment, Akira allows himself to relax until he hears the intercoms blare into life.

_“Did you really think I would let you guys go after what you did to my Thieves?”_ Mishima’s familiar voice, only distorted through the mechanical wirings of the intercom, fill the hallway like an imposing presence. The group stops in their tracks as the Director’s laugh reverberate across the halls.

“ _I can’t let you escape,_ ” he continues, and it pains Akira how awfully unlike Mishima it sounds. _“You haven’t fought the stars of this grand show yet, you know!”_

“Do you hear that?” Someone asks and Akira isn’t sure if it was Crow or Fox. Crow bursts from the group and disappears around a corner before the others can blink.

They chase after him but stop, when they find him standing in front of a large, metal wall where the exit had been. Crow turns on his heel, his mouth stretched into a grimace when another sound invades their ears. It sounds familiar in an unpleasant way, like the amalgamation of voices screaming and yelling all at once. The fine hairs on the back of Akira’s neck rise—he realizes why.

Standing at the other end of the hallway is a horde of shadows. Akira hears the last piece of The Director’s announcement before he’s forced to run by Fox’s desperate hand: _“If you survive the horde, that is._ ” The Director cackles. His voice cuts out.


	15. Super Moon

Despite their exhaustion, a burst of adrenaline sets them into motion. They follow the only trail left available for them as the horde chases after them, screeching and screaming. Akira loses track of how long they’ve been running—but he doesn’t think it’s been _too_ long, considering the fact his friends are already running out of steam. They ran up several flights of stairs, but every floor they come across is crawling with shadows.

It hits him, as they’re escaping through another flight of stairs, that the shadows never get close enough to attack, and Akira suspects— _knows_ , even—that they probably won’t. These shadows aren’t summoned by Arachnia nor are they the remaining shadows of the palace. They’re summoned by The Director, and Shadow Mishima doesn’t _want_ them to leave. Not yet. Not when he still had one remaining cognition for them to face.

Akira isn’t the only person to realize what’s happening, because when he looks ahead and matches sight with Crow, he can tell from the older boy’s eyes that _Crow_ gets it too. The hordes of shadows on every floor are herding them toward an area of the palace. The question was: where?

When they finally find a floor that’s devoid of the hoard, Oracle whips out the 3D map of the palace. Akira can’t make it out too well from his distance, but he notices the bright yellow dot that signified their location was much higher than their last standing.

“Where are we?” Noir asks.

Oracle closes the map with a grim look on her face. “Close to the treasure,” she states then turns her attention toward Akira. “But why?”

“Perhaps he _wants_ us to help him,” Fox suggests, though the way his brows are furrowed, Akira knows even Fox has trouble believing.

Without another word, they continue forward. There’s only one other door on this floor and Akira can’t shake the ominous feeling that crawls into his chest the further they walk. The door they come across is no different than all the rest. With the exception of its size—the fact that it's a double door—they pass through the wider opening and into a room that’s large and reminiscent of a CEO’s office. It’s a little too grand to fit in a government building, but the poster size images of _Akira_ that adorns the walls is more sickening than startling.

Akira’s stomach ties itself into knots. His heart races uncomfortably in his chest.

The images aren’t _just_ a cognition of Akira, they _are_ Akira—Mishima’s _perception_ —of Akira, and every single frame has him glorified and gorgeous in ways Akira _knows_ isn’t real. Not every photo that lines the walls are the same, however. In some pictures, he’s smiling, his smile radiant and bright. It’s not the typical smile Akira gives Mishima, but the one he’s certain he’s only shared with Yusuke. Other pictures show his profile, masculine and clean while others are more feminine and seductive in nature. Other frames show his back, his legs and even a few in poses Akira is positive he’s never done in front of Mishima before. But the frame that startles him the most, the one that lets a sliver of anxiety pool into his heart is the one that hangs over Mishima’s desk.

It’s the largest image in the entire gallery of pictures, and perhaps the only one that isn’t made to be like a photo from a camera. From Akira’s distance—and the way Fox squints at the image—it looks like a painting, with The Director sitting in the center on an ornately decorated red velvet chair. Standing beside him, dressed in Akira’s phantom thief outfit is Joker, or, what Akira presumes to be Mishima’s _cognition_ of Joker. The similarities are terrifyingly identical and the sliver of panic that had been mounting in Akira’s chest intensifies. He’s trembling before he notices. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought Mishima has seen him in his true form somehow, but it isn’t possible.

_Can't_ be possible.

He steps closer to Fox and feels his nerves settle just a bit more, but it’s short-lived. The stony expression on Fox’s face makes the panic climb. He rests a hand on Fox’s shoulder, feels the tight tension beneath his palms. Fox startles out of his gaze. He glances toward Akira and gives him a small, appreciative smile.

“I’m so happy you survived,” a familiar voice says.

Akira turns his gaze toward the other end of the room, and there, standing tall and proud beside the Cognition of Fox is The Director himself, but there’s something strange about the expression on his face. Akira frowns slightly, taking in the figure’s form. There’s nothing physically different about Shadow Mishima, his black tailored suit is still as prim and proper as the last time he’d seen it. His tie is impeccably in place and the only thing still a wild, crazy mess is his blue spiky hair. But the longer Akira examines, the more he realizes what’s wrong.

The terror in Shadow Mishima’s golden eyes is thinly veiled. The worried lines etched deep into his pale skin seem more prominent than Akira has ever seen on the boy and just like the Phantom Thieves, he looks tired. Worn, like he’s been fighting as hard as they’ve been. Akira wonders if the loss of Arachnia and Fracture have hurt him that much, to the point that they've physically worn him down. The smile he gives them is strained, but The Director keeps it in place despite how fake it looks.

His eyes are on only on Akira despite Crow and the others being easily visible. It doesn’t surprise him though, not anymore.

“I’ve been waiting,” The Director murmurs. “Arctic. _Ace._ ”

The second name comes as a surprise. Shadow Mishima and the cognition of Fox—Arctic—are the only two other people he sees in the room. But suddenly, another figure steps out from the shadows and Akira feels the breath escape his lungs. The subtle stiffening of Fox’s muscles is enough to tell Akira that he’s just as stunned, maybe even _irked_ , as the one known as Ace takes his place beside The Director.

It’s like staring into a mirror.

The tension that falls between them suddenly breaks with the sound of laughter. Everyone’s eyes whip toward Crow. He clutches his stomach as he laughs, buckled over and trembling until he straightens and settles The Director with a look Akira can’t quite read.

“Oh this is truly a sight,” he chuckles, a little breathless. “I’d been wondering when _he’d_ show up, but to think it would be together with _him_ all this time?” The laugh that rips out of him sounds more mocking than genuine. “Honestly, Mishima, you are _pathetic._ ”

Shadow Mishima flinches and something about the movement makes Akira’s hackles rise. From the corner of his eyes, he catches Skull’s muscles as they tense. A muscle in his jaw twitches as he clenches his teeth and Akira wonders if Skull is angry because of Crow’s words or because of Shadow Mishima’s flinch. He turns his gaze back toward the trio, his fists clenching and unclenching as a sense of dread settles unpleasantly in the pit of his stomach.

Shadow Mishima falls a step back. The movement is subtle—Akira probably wouldn't have noticed it had he not been watching—but the way Ace maneuvers himself in front of the Director makes Akira’s heart race. Crow, on the other hand, doesn’t look fazed in the slightest.

“Even in your own palace, you couldn’t keep them apart,” He chuckles darkly with a shake of his head.

The tension in the air rises. Akira takes a step forward without meaning to. He can’t tell if the anxiety crawling in his veins is from the fight he knows is coming or from the low dip in Crow’s voice as he restrains himself from laughing once more. Akira swallows the lump forming in his throat with great difficulty, suddenly aware of how dry his tongue has gotten.

“Crow,” He calls, his voice steady despite every nerve in his body screaming otherwise. “Enough.” There’s more he wants to say, but the words fail to form when Crow turns to him, a dark smile plastered across his face.

“But Akira,” He begins, almost sing-song like, “Don’t you see? This entire palace was an outcry, a symbolic yet pointless gesture to showcase his _unwavering_ belief that _you_ of all people would come to his rescue and yet, despite it all—“ Crow turns back to the trio of shadows that watch him impassively and saddles Shadow Mishima with a look Akira wishes he can decipher. “Even as a _boss_ of his own palace, he fails to control his _own_ shadows. How truly and utterly--!”

Crow doesn’t get the chance to finish. The rage that overcomes Shadow Mishima is unlike anything Akira has ever seen. In one moment, he’s almost cowering beneath the intensity of Crow’s gaze, and in the next, Arctic shoots out of alignment and clashes swords with Crow. The intensity of their clash forces Crow backward by a few inches, yet he holds his own against Arctic’s immense strength.

A blast of wind threatens to dislodge the others from their place. Mona loses his footing and gets swept into the air with a horrified gasp, but Panther’s whip wraps around his waist and keeps him steady like a kite in wind. But the relief is short-lived.

Akira catches movement from the corner of his eyes. He turns in time to see Ace move but loses track of the cognition in a blink. Suddenly, he’s behind the group, unleashing a barrage of elemental attacks that sends the group scattering into the air. Fox pulls Akira close as they jump to avoid a barrage of flames; Akira can still feel the heat of the flames as they barely avoid the dangerous attack.

Back on the ground, Akira watches with bated breath as Crow and Arctic clash weapons. Every swing Crow sends Arctic’s way is met with the sharpened edge of the cognition's sword. It’s almost like the cognition can read Crow’s movements better than Crow himself and the frustration that mounts on Crow’s face as they battle becomes more palpable by the second.

Akira’s eyes dart across the room anxiously. Without getting the chance to fully recover from their previous fights, the rest of his friends are faring poorly against Ace’s barrage of elemental attacks. Mona’s tiny body crashes into a wall on the opposite side of the room as flashes of electricity circulate across his limbs. He falls limply to the floor, the tip of his tail and ear twitching from the electric impulses.

“Mona!” Oracle and Noir shriek. But it’s Noir who bursts into motion in an attempt to reach the fallen feline. Ace appears in front of her, cutting off her path. With a frustrated scream, she swings her axe downward. It makes contact—right into the crook of his neck—yet the blade doesn’t penetrate the cognition’s skin nor does Ace seem fazed. Noir’s teary eyes widen in horror as realization dawns on her. She tries to pull back, but Ace grabs onto the handle of her axe and _plunges_ a fist into her chest.

“HARU!” Someone screams. Akira isn’t sure if it was him or Queen or any of the others, because suddenly Queen, Oracle, Panther, and Skull are desperately trying to reach the stunned Noir.

Queen’s mask lights up in blue flames as she attempts to summon Anat for aid until Noir’s body goes flying into her direction. Both women collide and crash into The Director’s desk, knocking it over in a painful tumble. Akira makes a mad dash toward them just as Fox jumps into the fray.

Akira barely avoids Arctic’s blast of ice as he runs. He can hear Crow's snarling growl as he summons Robin Hood. He loses track of their fight, his eyes focused solely on the unmoving pile of his two friends. He falls to his knees once he reaches them and nearly cries in relief when he finds them breathing.

Noir chokes for breath while Queen groans.

“Noir--!”

“I’m o-okay,” She gasps, her hand clutching her clothes. “P-please, stay back! It’s dangerous.”

The loud _clang_ of metal on metal forces Akira’s attention back to the battlefield. Arctic and Fox are in the middle of a standoff, their blades sparking from the friction. Akira doesn’t have time to wonder where Crow disappeared to in the mess of fighting.

“We can’t fight them individually,” Queen mutters as she struggles to regain her bearings. “We must fight _together_!”

Noir’s only response is a grunt. She gives Akira one last determined look before gripping her axe tightly in her hands and bolting back into the battlefield. Akira watches them, helpless and amazed, as both women jump into the fight with Arctic.

Panther’s screams of pain makes Akira’s blood run cold. He finds her in a choke hold, Ace’s fingers are wrapped firmly around her neck as she struggles to pry his fingers apart. Ice trails along the length of her neck and down her body. The pained, choking gasps that rip from her lips set Akira on edge. Skull’s furious screams reverberate across the room as he barrels into Ace’s body. The cognition doesn’t move under his weight. He remains firm and steady as though he were an iron pole buried deep into the ground. Panther’s fingers dig violently into the fabric of his jacket, the color draining from her face as the ice continues to spread.

“LET HER GO!” Skull screams, smashing the _big sleep stick_ into Ace’s body over and over. “LET HER GO! LET HER GO! FIGHT ME LIKE A MAN YOU PIECE OF SHIT—“

Ace lifts his free hand, quick as lightning, and smashes it across Skull’s face. Akira watches, in horrified silence, as Skull’s body goes flying. He smashes into a bookcase, the force of his landing splintering the thing into pieces as books rain down on him, burying him.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Oracle cries falling to her knees beside the book pile and desperately trying to pull him from underneath. “Skull, come on wake up! You have to help Panther! Skull!” She suddenly screams when Ace’s presence looms over her.

Akira bursts into motion then, some part of his mind screaming in outrage for his lack of power; for his uselessness thus far, and for being the cause of _all_ of this. A part him fights against the rage and guilt that burns deep within, and he tries to force his legs to move faster; tries to reach out toward the cognition to stop him from hurting Oracle, he watches, almost as if in slow motion, as Ace slashes his knife across Oracles face. She screams from the pain, her goggles fall apart as blood splatters across the floor and books.

“FUTABA!” Akira shrieks.

Something— _someone—_ crashes into him and he loses sight of Oracle’s trembling, wailing form.

They tumble to the ground until they finally stop just a few inches away from where Shadow Mishima stands, watching the fight. The world is a dizzying mess and while Akira tries to keep the bile from rising in his throat, he sits up to regain his bearings.

His stomach twists sickeningly.

Crow struggles to climb back to his feet, his breath labored as he breathes, his body covered in wounds and bruises. His white uniform is ruined from the mixture of elemental attacks that he’d gotten caught up in, but it’s not the injuries that litter his body that has Akira wanting to vomit. It was the pure, barely contained rage in his eyes that concerns him.

“ _Bastards,_ ” He murmurs darkly, breathless. “I’ll show _you_.”

“Crow—“ Akira’s voice fails him when another scream shatters his concentration.

He turns up just in time to catch sight of Arctic cutting down Queen and Noir, both women crumbling before the cognition like rag dolls. The last one standing is Fox, but his victory is short-lived when Ace comes for him. He can barely hold his own against the impenetrable force that is Akira’s cognition and something breaks inside Akira as he watches his own mirror image plunge a fist into Fox’s chest.

“Atta boy, Ace,” Shadow Mishima chuckles. “ _Change his heart_.” He commands.

“Yes, _my love_ ,” Ace purrs.

Akira’s mind blanks. His body moves without his consent. He dashes across the expanse of the messy room, his eyes locked onto Fox; his ears are deaf to the sounds of the world around him. Images of Yusuke suddenly flood his mind, of their meeting, Madarame’s palace, the first time Yusuke opened up to him—every moment leading up to this—it spurs Akira into desperate action.

Something shoots past him, and distantly, he’s aware of Crow’s laser sword swinging arching through the air. They reach the cognition at the same time: Crow slashes his blade into the Cognition while Akira pulls Fox’s body from Ace’s grasp. The momentum of his run sends him falling but he braces himself for the landing and holds Fox close as his back crashes into the ground. They skid for a moment.

Despite the buzzing in Akira’s ears, he can hear Fox’s pained, labored gasps as the heat of his breath puffs against the shell of Akira’s ear. The sense of relief he feels at the moment is almost enough to make him cry, but he restrains himself; reminds himself that the battle isn’t over.

Akira snaps his eyes open the moment he hears the clatter of metal. Crow’s weapon rolls unceremoniously across the floor, the older boy held tightly in Ace’s grasp. In an instant, he slams Crow’s body into the ground and plunges a fist into Crow’s chest. Crow grunts from the pain, his hands try to pry Ace’s death grip from his throat. Suddenly, Crow begins to scream.  


His body twists and arches as he struggles. He kicks out his legs, tries to slam his fists into the cognitions face, but Ace remains unmoving. Impassive. Akira watches in horror as Crow’s red mask begins to morph. The vibrant red shade of his mask slowly begins to darken until its nearly black, its long-nose shortens and splits; splitting and breaking. Everything about Crow’s visage begins to distort as his screams crescendo.

Akira opens his mouth, ready to scream, but everything stops the moment Shadow Mishima approaches.

The silence that falls on the battlefield is heavy and imposing. Akira realizes then, with a horrible sense of clarity, that he’s the only one left with any sense of what’s going on.

The Director approaches Crow’s prone form. Ace’s hand remains firmly wrapped around the older boy’s neck, his free hand still plunged deep into Crow’s chest as though his body were made of soft matter.

Akira watches the scene quietly, his blood pumping hard in his ears. He knows, in a distant part of his mind, that Mishima doesn’t know how their “change of heart” works. He asked once, a long time ago when the Thieves’ popularity was gaining traction but changed his mind before Akira could feign his understanding. Now, as Mishima’s shadow approaches Crow with the expression of a mad man pleased to see his worst rival fallen, Akira realizes that Ace’s ability is how Mishima _thinks_ they change hearts. And the immense amount of pain Crow must have felt in that moment, the way his own mask and clothes distorted right before Akira’s very eyes—he wonders what could Ace have possibly been filling Crow’s mind with.

What change of heart was Ace trying to achieve?

The Director crouches down in front of Crow, a nearly hysterical smile split across his face.

“Look at you,” He gloats, a hint of a laugh in his tone. “Who’s the pathetic one now?”

Crow’s body twitches but Akira knows his strength his mostly gone. He can’t fight the flinch that escapes him when Shadow Mishima snaps Crow’s head to the side with his foot and he fails to keep the anxiety from rising when Shadow Mishima’s eyes fall on him. He holds Fox’s body tighter, his boyfriend grunts from the mild discomfort and tries, but fails, to return the embrace. Akira knows Fox is worn beyond exhaustion. He’s injured and bruised, just like the rest of them are—they have no hope of escaping this palace alive—and yet, Akira holds on.

Shadow Mishima’s eyes narrow into slits.

“Arctic,” The Director commands with a snarl. “Let’s end this. Purge him and the others!”

“ _Mishima,_ ” Akira screams, more desperate than he means to. He hurries to put himself in between Fox and the Cognition, his whole body trembling from a hurricane of emotions. “We are your _friends_! Please, stop this!”

The Director doesn’t acknowledge his words. Arctic continues to approach, his beautiful face devoid of any emotion. The closer he gets, the more terror Akira feels.

He can hear Fox straining to regain his strength from behind him; can see the rest of his friends trying to stir back to reality. Arctic slowly raises his weapon, his footfalls loud in Akira’s ears.

_What can I do?!_ He screams in his mind. _Think! Think! Think!_

Akira opens his mouth, unsure of what to say. What could he do to change Mishima’s mind? What _can_ he do to save Yusuke from his untimely demise?! Things weren’t supposed to turn out this way.

The guilt that bursts into Akira’s chest feels like it's suffocating him. _I’m sorry!_ His mind desperately screams. “I’m _sorry!_ ” The cognition stops in his tracks. Shadow Mishima’s muscles tense.

Tears stream down Akira’s face. He doesn’t notice them. “I’m sorry, Mishima. I’m _SORRY_. I should’ve been more aware of your pain; should’ve been more of your friend but I can’t—I CAN’T—change the way I feel.”

The pain that distorts Shadow Mishima’s face only adds to the guilt eating away at his heart. Akira grips his chest, his trembling worsening.

“You deserve better than this, I swear that you do—and-and you deserve better than me. I’m sorry—I’m _so sorry_ but I love him and if you kill him—“ Akira’s gaze sharpens as he stares into the Shadow’s golden eyes. “You’ll have to kill me too.”

Shadow Mishima’s face crumbles as a mixture of emotions overwhelm him. Akira watches with bated breath as the Shadow struggles internally with himself. His hands snake into his hair as he clutches his head, his eyes screwed up into something akin to pain. The scream that rips from his throat physically hurts Akira more than it does to Mishima, and yet, despite the anguish visibly radiating from the Shadow’s form, The Director settles Akira with eyes full of broken rage.

“KILL THEM ALL!” He screams. “IF YOU WON’T COME WITH ME WILLINGLY THEN I WILL TAKE YOU BY FORCE!”

But neither Arctic nor Ace move.

“ARCTIC!” The Director commands again, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! PURGE THEM!”

But Arctic does not move.

It's then that Akira notices the emotion on the cognition’s face. The awe that laces his eyes, the way his lips are curved into a pained grimace. He looks torn between following orders and listening to his own internal monologue and Akira isn’t sure when or how it happened, but he realizes in that moment that Arctic—this cognition Mishima has of Yusuke—is one he cannot control. Not truly. Not completely. And when Akira dares to look into Arctic’s eyes, realization dawns on him.

Mishima _knows_.

Akira swallows thickly, his tongue nearly sticks to the roof of his mouth. “Mishi—“

Arctic’s blood splatters across Akira’s face and torso. Akira’s body tenses as his mind blanks out. The lance that pierces through the cognition’s body is long and sharp, the blade’s jagged and coated in the Cognition’s own blood. The weapon pulls out from Arctic’s body and he stumbles back, surprise spreading across his face. He falls to his knees and crumbles into shadowy, black particles before his body can hit the ground.

And there, standing behind the figure, was Shadow Mishima, his breath heavy as he clutches his blood-soaked weapon to his side.

“A waste,” he mutters to no one. His voice quivers. “Why him? _Why always him_?!”

“WHY IS IT NEVER ME?!” Shadow Mishima screams, surging forward. He aims for Fox and tries to maneuver around Akira’s trembling form, but Akira reacts out of instinct. He gets in the Shadow’s way and feels the bloodied tip of Mishima’s lance tear its way through his body. Shadow Mishima’s frustrated screams turn into anguish. Akira can hear the horrified outcry from Fox as something warm begins to ooze down his legs. He can barely make out the sounds of his friends regaining their senses at the worst time imaginable before his ears begin to buzz and his strength vanishes from his limbs.

Shadow Mishima rips out the lance from his body, and it doesn’t hurt as much as when it went in. Distantly, Akira doesn’t think it should work that way. He feels himself fall, but a pair of pale arms wrap themselves around his body and his landing is cushioned by the familiar scent that is, entirely, Yusuke.

Akira wants to laugh. The number of times Yusuke has caught him during a fight in this place is too many to count. He supposes he should feel more embarrassed for his uselessness, but his emotions seem to be out of whack. Despite the situation, Akira feels tired, yet calm, like all the anxiety and terror he’d felt earlier, the anguish and heartbreak—all of that just didn’t seem to matter at that moment.

He catches sight of Shadow Mishima’s trembling body, the tears in his eyes a never-ending stream as they trail down his cheeks to his chin. Akira can tell it’s a struggle for the Shadow to speak with the way he opens and closes his mouth. Words don’t seem to want to work.

Fox’s words are frantic, but Akira can’t hear them; doesn’t really focus on what he’s saying.

“Wh-why?” The Shadow finally manages. He chokes on a sob. He swallows. “Wh-why w-would y-you do that?”

“You know why,” Akira says and he’s surprised by how clear he says it. Shadow Mishima shuts his eyes with a shake of his head.

Behind him, Akira can see the others. They’re struggling to find enough strength to reach him. Mona, weakened from the electric attack, tries most desperately to crawl his way toward them. Fox’s hands press frantically against Akira’s wounds. The hiss of pain that escapes his lips is weak, but the pressure keeps the blood from pouring out, even if it stains Fox’s hands red. The scent of copper is sickening, yet Akira can’t find it in himself to care.

His weary gaze falls on Crow. Ace keeps his back turned toward the other boy, his expression placid despite everything going on. Crow slowly forces his limbs to work. He crawls toward where his sword had fallen and grips the handle once he’s within reach. He climbs to his feet just as the others begin their trek toward them, and with a burst of unexpected speed, he launches an attack.

“Crow!” Fox screams. Whatever else he wanted to say dies in his throat as Crow’s laser sword pierces through the Cognition’s body like butter.

Shadow Mishima whips his head around, eyes wide. Ace eyes the blade piercing into him, astonishment flashing in his eyes. His body darkens and bursts into shadowy particles. Crow sinks his laser sword into the ground, a breathy laugh on his lips.

“ _Gotcha_ ,” He breathes.

The rest of his words are drowned out by Mishima’s anguished screams. He buries his face into Akira’s bloody torso and sobs. The palace quakes beneath their feet.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he cries desperately. “I just wanted to help! I wanted to make you proud! I wanted to prove that I was _useful_ to you, that I—that I—“

“I know,” Akira murmurs. He lays a bloody, yet gentle hand on the Shadow’s head. “I know. I forgive you.”

“We must leave,” Fox says, his voice hoarse and pained. “You will die if we stay here.”

The palace begins to crumble around them, but Akira merely hums in response. His head lolls back into Fox’s chest and he stares into the anguished eyes of his lover. The edges of his vision grow black, but he fights through the haze to give his boyfriend what he hopes is a cocky smirk. He’s not sure if he succeeds, but the smile Fox gives him in return makes butterflies explode in his chest.

“I love you,” He breathes. “Thank you for… _everything_.”

Fox rips off his mask as tears rain down on Akira’s face. His lips are moving, but the words don’t seem to reach his ears. Akira tries to hum again, but his strength wanes. Suddenly, he feels far too exhausted to keep his eyes open and wonders, for a brief moment, if closing his eyes was a terrible idea.


	16. Waning Crescent

Akira wakes up to a ceiling of familiar tiles. The room is small and dark, save for the light from computer screen as it transitions from one screen saver to the next. The room smells like antiseptic cleaner and latex. It’s familiar in a way Akira feels he should remember, and in some distant part of his mind, he has a vague image of the women he’s certain this room belongs to. But his vision hazes around the edges and he allows himself to fall back into the sweet embrace of nothingness.

The last thing he recalls before the void reclaims his consciousness is a dull and fuzzy pain in his side.

* * *

The next time he wakes up, it’s to a different ceiling. It isn’t tiled like the last one he’d seen nor is it wooden like the attic. It’s faintly familiar too, but not nearly as striking as it should have been, or could have been. Akira’s senses are a muddy, dull mess. The noises he hears are distant and vague. He can’t make out anything or pinpoint the faces those voices belong to, but some part of him convinces the rest of him not to worry.

Each of his eyelashes feel like lead weights against his eyes. It’s a struggle to keep them open, so he lets them fall. He wants to sleep; _needs_ to, and darkness answers his call.

He dreams of colors and shapes, of faceless voices and monsters in the shadows. He dreams of Arsene and the others watching him sleep, none of them saying a word.

* * *

_Skritch skritch skritch_

Akira’s eyes flicker open before his consciousness does. Colors shift and distort, and his vision blurs, but after several blinks, the world realigns itself, and he realizes he’s staring at the same ceiling from before. The room doesn’t smell like alcohol or latex gloves, but it does smell like freshly brewed coffee and pancake batter.

Sounds filter into his ears slowly, and he can barely make out noises in the distance, but it’s the sound he hears _in_ the room that tug him out of his mental haze. He tries to move his limbs, but the effort is fruitless. His arms and legs feel fuzzy and cold. The bed sheets wrap around him, keeping him warm. They feel like rubber on his fingers. He stops trying and opts to move his head instead. It works, if only slightly.

There’s another person in the room with him, sitting several inches away from Akira’s bedside. He’s hunched, albeit uncomfortably, in his chair, the light _skritch skritch_ of his pencil fills the silent room as his hand works in quick motion. Akira realizes, with startling slowness, that he should know this person. He _does_ recognize him, if only just barely.

It’s Yusuke, lost into his sketchbook, his expression of pure, intense concentration.

The sense of comfort Akira feels in that moment is overwhelming. He lets himself smile, and he hopes it shows, before the darkness reclaims his senses again.

* * *

“…his vitals appear to be….”

“…may be in… out…..ness”

“…pital…choice…..”

“…we….talk….”

“So…ro…”

“ _Now_ ….”

* * *

The smell of something bitter pulls Akira out of his dreams. With a furrow of his brow, he opens his eyes and registers the intense smell of coffee filling the room. He hears movement beside his head before his eyes can fully adjust, and before he knows it, a weight dips the bed by his legs and a warm, gentle hand lands on his.

“He’s waking up,” Someone says; it’s deep and soft, and Akira’s chest immediately fills with warmth. He settles into the touch and allows himself a sleepy, happy smile.

Various other sounds filter into his ears. He tears his eyes away from the dull ceiling and nearly giggles stupidly at the familiar sight of Yusuke’s relieved smile.

“Hey,” Akira breathes. “You’re alive.”

“I am now,” Yusuke chuckles. He doesn’t hide the pain that courses through his eyes in that moment, but it’s gone before Akira can process it. “How are you feeling?”

Akira doesn’t know what to say, and his hesitation must show on his face because Yusuke’s small, pleasant smile falls from his lips. Akira grips his boyfriend’s hand in that moment and tries to lace their fingers together. He’s not sure if he succeeds, he can barely feel Yusuke’s touch through the tingly numbness in his fingers.

“Present,” he says eventually. He doesn’t know how else to explain it. “I’m here.”

“That’s good,” he hears someone else say and Akira is suddenly reminded that he’s not alone with Yusuke like he first thought. He turns his head slightly to see the others crowded around his bed. It startles him, a bit more harshly than it should, that he completely blocked their presence in favor of focusing on Yusuke. A rush of heat floods his cheeks, but Yusuke chases away his embarrassment by brushing some of Akira’s bangs from his eyes.

“Right?” Ryuji finishes, a look of confusion on his face.

“Well, I mean, he _is_ hopped up on all sorts of pain killers,” Futaba adds, leaning into Akira’s bed.

Morgana takes that moment to jump onto Akira’s bed and he curls his body beside Akira’s hip. Akira can faintly feel the low rumbling purr that rattles through the feline’s body. He feels inclined to pet Morgana, but wonders if his friend would appreciate the gesture.

“Glad to have you back, Leader,” Morgana says suddenly. “We were worried.”

“That’s an understatement,” Ann smiles. She takes that moment to run her fingers through Morgana’s fur. His purring intensifies, and it’s the only acknowledgement he gives her.

“You’ve been out for quite a few days,” Makoto adds when silence falls on them. She’s standing a little ways behind Futaba, cradling a cup in her hands. Akira realizes, sluggishly, that the smell of coffee must be coming from the cup. He can faintly see the wispy trails of smoke drifting from the porcelain container. “Boss and Dr. Takemi covered for you, but, erm,” her fine brows crinkle nervously. “We… ran into a bit of trouble doing so.”

Akira doesn’t understand. “Trouble?” He asks, voice hoarse.

“We spilled the beans,” Futaba sighs. “We had no choice. Sojiro kept asking questions and in order to keep the doctor from taking you to the emergency room, we _had_ to tell her what happened.”

“It was not fun,” Ryuji bemoans.

“But they seemed to take it rather well,” Haru cuts in. Akira’s eyes fall toward the petite girl standing beside Ryuji with a soft, warm smile on her face. There’s a hint of nervousness that crinkles around her eyes, but Akira can sense her genuine relief despite it. “Even if there… happened to be a lot of yelling from Boss’ part.” She finishes almost apologetically.

“Oh yeah,” Futaba drawls. “But he’s had three days to get over it and the fact that he’s been nursing you back to health in the house instead of the attic is a pretty good sign that he’s not _nearly_ as mad as he was before.”

Akira mulls over the information while the others devolve into distracted commentary. Three days. Three days since they infiltrated and failed Mishima’s palace. Three days of him being in and out of consciousness; three days they’ve lost with Sae’s treasure still yet unclaimed.

He snaps out of his thoughts when he feels Yusuke’s hand release his. The loss of his touch makes a surge of anxiety erupt in Akira’s veins, and despite still feeling weak and hazy, he tries to reach out, to keep Yusuke close. But as he suspects, his limbs don’t react and instead, he watches as Yusuke switches out with Ann. She sits at the edge of the bed and levels Akira with a stern look.

(Distantly, Akira is aware of Yusuke’s presence. He switches places with Futaba and hangs close to Akira’s bedside, within reach but not quite touching.)

“Now that you’re awake, there’s something we have to talk about,” Ann says. “It’s about Akechi.”

Akira’s heart starts to race. “What…. Happened?”

“I told them the truth,” Morgana states before Ann or anyone else could continue. “With you out of commission, there was no reason to keep them in the dark. So I told them.”

“And we came up with a plan,” Makoto smiles, sounding pleased. It’s the most relaxed Akira has heard her sound in a long time. “Once you’re better again, we’ll tell you.”

“But, seriously dude? What made you think it was such a great idea to keep _that_ in the dark from us? We’re your friends!”

“Yeah! I’m really hurt you kept this from us, you know!”

“Akira,” Yusuke murmurs, leaning close. He snakes a hand into Akira’s again and squeezes. “You needn’t carry this burden on your own. You have us.” _You have me_ goes unspoken but Akira can read it in Yusuke’s eyes.

The chorus of agreement that comes from the others gets lost in Akira’s ears. He’s too busy refocusing on Yusuke’s face to process the rest of the world around him. He sighs, long and heavy. He feels less heavy than before, but still not quite whole.

“I… didn’t want anyone to worry,” he murmurs.

Ann sighs heavily. “You’re hopeless,” She chuckles.

Akira’s eyes trail around the room as silence falls on them once more. His friends slowly begin to disperse, giving him room to breathe now that the most important facts were out in the open. Makoto and Haru regroup by a small table in the middle of the room. Various cups and plates of snacks litter the table top as the girls settle down with their drinks. Ryuji leans his back against the wall just as Yusuke retakes his original spot on Akira’s bed. Futaba throws herself into a nearby chair, spinning it around so that she can rest her arms and chin against the back rest while Ann joins Makoto and Haru on the ground. Morgana remains by Akira’s side, shifting his position slightly to accommodate Yusuke, but he looks relatively content in the cozy warmth of the sheets.

Morgana meets Akira’s curious gaze. “Haru told me once that cats have healing powers just by cuddling,” He says suddenly. “Even though I’m not really a cat, I thought maybe I could give it a try.”

Akira has a hard time keeping himself from laughing. “Thank you,” he murmurs instead, and watches, with great amusement, as Morgana shies away in embarrassment.

He turns his gaze toward Yusuke, his good mood dimming just a bit. “What happened with the palace?” He asks. “Did we fail?”

Yusuke’s expression sours, if only mildly. “We failed to retrieve the treasure, yes, but,” Yusuke’s brows furrow thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t say failed.”

“To be honest, he hasn’t been in school for as long as you’ve been out.” Ryuji adds. “He won’t answer my texts or pick up his phone.”

“We went by his house to drop off his assignments,” Ann continues just as Ryuji nods. “His mother said he was sick with the flu, but… we think it’s more than that.”

“But… his treasure…?”

“A person’s treasure comes in all forms,” Morgana says, grabbing Akira’s attention. “It was hard to tell when we were fighting, but I can still remember the way I felt when Ace attacked me. I think, for Mishima, his treasure wasn’t a _thing_ but a person.”

“In other words,” Futaba interjects, sliding closer to Akira’s bed with her chair. “There’s a distinct possibility that while we may have failed to steal Mishima’s treasure, Akechi slicing and dicing the cognitive you was enough to evoke the change of heart we were looking for. Possibly. Hopefully. _Maybe._.” she adds with a shrug.

Akira frowns. He returns his gaze toward the familiar dull ceiling of the Sakura household, his mind wandering. The look on Shadow Mishima’s face when his spear pierced into Akira’s body, the fat, wet tears that streamed down his cheeks; the scream that rattled his body—the images hurt to recollect, but Akira allows himself to digest everything that has happened so far. He needs time to figure things out, decipher what they mean.

_Later._ He tells himself, feeling weary all over again. _I’ll think about this later._

Conversation devolves into something lighthearted and Akira allows himself to enjoy the company of his friends. Yusuke remains close the entire time, his hand a steady source of security amongst the familiar chaos of his friends’ antics.

* * *

Mishima feels nauseous. Throughout the entire train ride over, he’s fought against the queasy dip in his stomach whenever he thinks about his plans for today. It was his first day back in school after a three-day absence, and while the empty seat behind Takamaki-san’s desk is a haunting reminder of the terrible things that have coursed through his mind the past few weeks, Mishima feels it’s his sense of _duty_ to make things right.

The unwanted, unnecessary kiss plays out in his mind’s eye again. It’s not the first time he’s thought about it and it may not be the last time, but the overwhelming sense of guilt and disgust that fills his body every time he thinks about it makes the queasiness intensify.

Mishima Yuuki knows he violated Akira through that kiss; knows it wasn’t the first time he did so, and knows, with painstaking clarity, it wouldn't have been the last had things gone his way. He knows he violated Kitagawa Yusuke’s personal safety by outing his information online through the Phansite out of a weird, distorted sense of jealousy and obligation. And he knows, even as the guilt claws in his chest, that he’s been terrible to others: pressuring them to change their opinions about the Phantom Thieves, and doxxing people online for their blasphemous ways. The fame the Phansite gave him, the sense of importance that he blew out of proportion in his head for _knowing_ who the leader of the Phantom Thieves is—all of it makes Mishima feel like jumping out of the train and throwing up his guts. But he doesn’t.

He stays where he stands and swallows his nerves. He’s going to see Akira in Yongen-Jaya with the blessings from his friends, and while Mishima thinks he should have texted Akira first, he knows the gesture would fall on deaf ears.

Akira hasn’t been answering his text messages in the past week since the incident, and Mishima doesn’t expect that to change any time soon. So, instead, he hopes the good will of Akira’s friends is a sign of a hopeful and pleasant encounter.

Mishima tries to keep himself from crying.

When he steps out into the station of Yongen-Jaya, Mishima feels his blood run cold. Kitagawa-kun sticks out of the crowd no matter what he does. He's a tall and lanky figure and radiates the air of prestige thanks to his former connections to the infamous Madarame, but it's none of those things that really stick to Mishima. It’s _who_ Yusuke is that has him trembling in his shoes and it’s where he’s _going_ that makes Mishima think he’s going to upchuck his lunch on the sidewalk.

The moment Yusuke’s gray eyes find him in the crowd, the dread starts to weigh heavier in Mishima’s gut. When he stops walking and merely stares, Mishima wishes the floor would open up and swallow him whole. But what really gets to Mishima, however, is when _he_ starts walking to meet Yusuke.

The sharp, cold gaze in Yusuke’s eyes makes Mishima want to flinch, but he doesn’t. Despite how sick he feels, a sense of determination floods into his veins. He meets Yusuke’s hard gaze with his own.

“It’s you,” the taller boy begins.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Mishima says morosely. Before Yusuke can have a chance to say anything more, Mishima bows in front of him and clasps his hands together. “I’m sorry,” he begins, his face screwed shut as wave after wave of guilt overwhelms him. “I’m so, so sorry for what I did to you and what I did to Akira! It was wrong of me and I don’t deserve either of your kindness and if you choose not to forgive me, I completely understand, but I’m _sorry_ for the pain I’ve caused you both.”

He wills himself not to cry and he succeeds, if only just a little. He keeps his body bent at the waist, his arms shaking as he holds it over his head.

“It’s not me you must apologize to,” Yusuke says and turns his back on Mishima. “I’m going to see him. If you wish to come, you may.”

Mishima rights himself before the tears can squeeze through his lashes, and he’s surprised to see that Yusuke hasn’t moved away yet.

“He’s concerned about you,” The artist murmurs. It's hard to hear him through the bustling crowd, but Mishima is sure he’s heard correctly. They start walking.

Mishima clenches his school bag anxiously. “Is he… okay?”

“As much as he can be, given his circumstances.”

“Did…” Mishima bites his bottom lip, unsure if his next question is something he _should_ be asking. But he thinks back to Akira, to the way he and Yusuke acted back in the park all those days ago. Mishima pushes onward. “…did you guys change my heart?”

Yusuke doesn’t grace him with a response. Mishima didn’t think he would.

* * *

The trip into Yongen-Jaya is mostly silent. Mishima has a hard time hiding his surprise when Yusuke by passes the café entirely and heads down a street Mishima doesn't recognize at all. The Sakura household comes to him as a shock, and even when Futaba greets Yusuke with a bright smile, she faces Mishima with one that is a mix of emotions. He doesn’t understand it; doesn’t understand why, in one moment, Futaba looks at him in fear, before she shakes it off and tries to play off his visit with jokes at his expense.

She doesn’t hang around for too long, though, since Yusuke marches onward and she lets him. She gives Mishima a look he can’t read but gestures down the hall to Yusuke’s receding back.

“He’s more coherent today,” She tells him, though Mishima doesn’t understand what she means by that. “Relax, Ryuji already gave me the heads up you were coming.”

“He did?” Mishima frowns. He expected it, but it still makes him nervous. The momentary terror that flashed across Futaba’s face when she spotted him sticks out uncomfortably in his mind, but Futaba doesn’t seem like she wants to talk about it. So, he lets it go.

Suddenly, she’s behind him, shoving him forward. “Go on, go on!” She urges. “Akira’s waiting you know. I’ll be out here if you two need anything.”

Mishima stumbles, but regains his bearings. He steps into the only open door within sight and nearly loses himself.

Akira looks tired, like he’s been through hell in ways Mishima can never understand. But he’s sitting up in bed with Yusuke rearranging the bouquet of flowers by his bedside. The black and white tuxedo cat Mishima is used to seeing on Akira’s person is curled comfortably at the foot of Akira’s bed, blue eyes watching Mishima. He takes a tentative step forward and, soon, Akira’s eyes are on him.

He looks different without his glasses.

Mishima tries not to let the guilt eat away at his heart.

“H-Hey,” he starts and tries to keep himself from cringing with how shaky he sounds. His body starts trembling and he hopes its not obvious enough for them to see.

“Hey,” Akira smiles. It's warm and friendly—far too kind for what Mishima deserves.

Mishima crumbles at the sight.

He falls to his knees, his legs weak as remorse overcomes him. The tears stream down his face as he chokes on his sobs. He’s murmuring a string of apologies before he realizes it; they don’t make sense to his ears but the expression on Akira’s face as he goes on is enough for Mishima to know that Akira _understands_.

He doesn’t know how he manages to do it, but he’s by Akira’s bedside, clutching the blankets in a white knuckled grip. The feline doesn’t move and neither does Yusuke, who watches the scene in silence.

Mishima buries his nose into the mattress and lets out a wet, pained sob. “I-I’m sorry f-f-for everything, Aki-Akira,” he chokes. He wants to say more, he wants to tell him _everything_ but his voice cracks and his words break.

But most importantly, he wants to thank him—them—for changing his heart.

He feels the hand on his head and lifts it slightly. Akira’s expression remains the same and Mishima doesn’t understand why.

He doesn’t understand how Akira of all people can still extend him some sliver of kindness, even after all the hurt and trouble he’s caused.

“I didn’t change your heart, Mishima,” Akira says with a light chuckle. “You did that all by yourself.”

Mishima straightens himself, startled. “Huh?”

“You saw the error of your ways,” Yusuke adds, startling Mishima. “The Phantom Thieves found no treasure to steal.”

Mishima frowns in confusion. “Tr-treasure?”

“No treasure,” Akira chuckles, it doesn’t help Mishima’s confusion at all, but he settles the shorter boy with tranquil smile. “You proved to the Thieves you could change your own heart, and you did. They’re proud of you. But you didn’t hear that from us.” He chuckles again, a little more tired than before.

Mishima settles back on the haunches of his feet, stunned. He snaps out his daze within an instant and says, “But that doesn’t change the fact that I’ve done terrible things to you. To both of you.” He adds, giving Yusuke a pleading glance. “And I… I plan on fixing my mistakes. I used the Phantom Thieves reputation for my own gains and did terrible things because of it. I’m going to make up for everything I’ve done, I promise.”

He rises to his feet before Akira can say a word and suddenly bows. “I’m sorry, Akira. I… made you uncomfortable by imposing myself on you and threatened your relationship. Even if you can never forgive me, please understand how deeply sorry I am for everything.”

“I know you are.” Akira says. He sounds a little more tired than he did before and Mishima knows his time is running short. “Just… be the best you can be.”

He’s been given a second chance, Mishima realizes. And it’s a chance he won’t squander.

* * *

Once Mishima is gone with Futaba and Morgana, both of whom walk Mishima to the train station, Akira allows himself a sigh of contentment. The heavy weights around his shoulders seem to be almost entirely gone. Now that he knows the destruction of Mishima’s treasure didn’t hurt his friend in anyway, Akira feels like he can finally relax. Despite the impending threat that was waiting for them, Akira feels a sense of peace.

His thoughts are disturbed when he feels Yusuke nudge him slightly in bed. His boyfriend crawls onto the mattress with him and Akira molds his body into Yusuke’s willowy frame. The familiar scent of paint, coffee and something distinctly vanilla permeates his nostrils, chasing away any remaining concerns Akira may have had.

“Your kindness never ceases to amaze me,” Yusuke rumbles. He cards long, delicate fingers through Akira’s wild black locks. “That is the difference between us. While you can allow yourself to accept his apology, I for one, found it difficult.”

Akira hums in acknowledgement, enjoying Yusuke’s soothing touches.

“Ace was his treasure.” Yusuke says, not for the first time and Akira doubts it will be the last. “That is something we both have in common.”

Akira chuckles. “What, was Ace your treasure too?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Yusuke scoffs, though Akira can sense the playful smile on his boyfriend’s face. “ _You_ are my treasure.”

Akira steals a kiss from Yusuke’s lips. It’s slow and deep, and the most delicious thing Akira has ever done in a long, long time. He practically mourns the loss when Yusuke pulls away for air and tries to chase after his boyfriend’s mouth, but Yusuke’s gentle hand cupping his cheek stops him.

Yusuke stares into his eyes for a moment and Akira isn’t lost to the way the grief swirls within them. He knows what Yusuke is thinking about without having to say it. It’s the next pressing shadow that looms over them in their lives, but Futaba and Makoto’s plan of action to save Akira’s life sounds almost foolproof, despite the risks. It’s a risk they have to take, Akira knows and Yusuke knows. But the terror of their experience in Mishima’s palace is fresh in both their minds.

“I love you,” Yusuke says suddenly.

He dives in for another kiss, swallowing Akira’s response, but it’s alright. Yusuke knows what lies in Akira’s heart. Akira clutches him tightly, pulls him close. Thoughts of today, tomorrow, yesterday—they don’t matter under Yusuke’s breathtaking kiss. The only thing Akira cares about in that moment is the warmth and love that Yusuke readily gives him.

Whatever tomorrow brings, they can handle it. Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was such a long time coming, it still feels unreal. The Persona 5 Big Bang was the first bang and fandom event I've joined in since 2015. And while the experience wasn't always pleasant, I learned a lot about myself as a writer. 
> 
> "Operation: Moonfall" is a bittersweet experience. This wasn't the idea I originally had when I signed up for the bang and the final outcome wasn't what I first had envisioned all those months ago. I cried more times than I can count during the process of writing this story and the amount of times I felt proud of my work can be counted on one hand only. There were times I would wake up debating on whether or not I should drop out of the event and days where I felt I wasn't a good enough writer to express what I wanted to achieve. I felt like an imposter writing for a fandom so full of talent. But every day, I kept on going. 
> 
> I told my friends this story wasn't going to be one that i would look back on fondly. Now that it's finally complete, I can proudly say that I was lying. "Operation: Moonfall" is, perhaps, one of my favorite things I've ever written. I know the whole "mishima has a palace" is a common trope in fandom, but it was something I wanted to try my hand at and I'm so glad that I was able to finish and I am, unbelievably proud, with how the story came out. It may not be the best, but what it stands for means more to me than anything I've ever written.
> 
> And I am eternally grateful to the people who stood behind me, faithfully. Writing this story made me love the Persona 5 characters way more than I did before, and while I plan on writing more for them after this, "Operation: Moonfall" will forever hold a very special place in my heart.
> 
> One again, I want to thank the mods of the p5 Big Bang for organizing the event, to my artists for drawing their illustrations, to my betas for fixing my mistakes and to my good friends for being the support in a time where I felt like the world was against me. but most importantly, thank -you-, dear reader, for taking the time to read all 46k words and witnessing the trials of "Operation: Moonfall". Imma go shut up now!
> 
>  
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/nadacreates?lang=en)   
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**Author's Note:**

> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/nadacreates?lang=en)   
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